


Avengers: Road Trip

by notapartytrick



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Barely Any Actual Avengers, Bider-Man, Camping, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Road Trips, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tourism, Why Did I Write This?, no tech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapartytrick/pseuds/notapartytrick
Summary: Tony wasn't sure how the hell he had ended up rattling around in his huge luxury campervan, headed for some obscure State Park in Pennsylvania, alongside none other than Steve, the man he's been avoiding for God knows how long. And also Bucky, Natasha, Bruce, Clint...And the kid, fretting at his torn jeans incessantly but bearing a grin the size of Queens on his face. Thrilled to be among his heroes.Why had Tony gone along with this?





	1. Day 1: Morning- God Knows Why

Tony wasn't sure why the hell he'd gone along with this plan.

He was rattling sluggishly along winding roads which he could tell hadn't been resurfaced in decades by the number of inches he was thrown into the air every few seconds. Inside an incongruously large luxury campervan, courtesy of... himself.

And in the driver's seat, none other than Steve Rogers, the man he hadn't spoken to since the incident with his parents. Oh, and Bucky. His metal arm looked surprisingly at home among the chic interior of the campervan. His face, however, was dark and turned towards the floor. Tony could see his jaw twitching. Nervous.

Damn right he's nervous, after what Tony did.

Bruce, Natasha, and Clint were squabbling over a protein bar on the sofa, the latter two looking like they just walked out of their graves for all they had arrived at the compound at midday. Natasha, sprawled across the length of the sofa, had her tracksuit-clad legs slung over Clint's lap; he sprayed crumbs over her as he spoke. Bruce perched more tersely on the left armrest, leaving a gap between him and Clint and staring at Nat like a puppy being ignored by its owner.

Tony would have to address that at some point. Or he could pretend it didn't exist just like he does with everything else.

Yep.

Across the table from them sat the kid, fretting at a tear in his worn-out jeans, sporting egregiously dirty sneakers, a zip-up hoodie that had evidently shrunk in the wash, and a T-shirt saying, "never trust an atom: they make up everything".

Tony both cringed and smiled at his taste. He would drag that little punk to a store to buy him some decent clothes, but Peter was so painfully polite he knew any offer of financial aid would be ultimately turned down. Plus, Tony would deny it at gunpoint, but he thought the slogans were cute.

He may have seemed nervous in his habits, but the grin on his face, approximately the size of Queens, attested to how thrilled he was to be among his heroes.

God, how did he end up on a motherfucking road trip with these idiots?

________________________________________

The idea of a road trip had come to him during a restless night in a hotel, staying overnight after a painfully dull press conference. Tony never could figure out why news reporters always seemed obliged to ask him the same questions, over and over:

"What will Stark Industries do to solve Earth's problems?" "What is Iron Man's next move?" "What's the situation with Miss Potts?" 

The occasional, "Will you marry me?"

And a topic which had become more and more popular in recent months: "What is your connection to Spider-Man?" 

A topic which always brought with it a now-familiar surge of anxiety. 

These questions had been circling around his head incessantly all night, when suddenly, from the whirlpool of words, emerged an image: the face of Steve.

Since he had found out the truth about his parents, he hadn't much felt like giving old pal Rogers a call like old times. Not like they ever had called each other, except in direst need. He thought Rogers or Barnes would be the ones to call first, out of- you know, common courtesy. But evidently, courtesy was not a value which came easily to Bucky.

He wasn't sure when his desire to finally set things right with Cap had morphed into a road trip to Kraven State Park. He knew, however, to make the impromptu getaway feasible, he would have to consult other Avengers.

A few weeks later, and Tony had sent a real paper invite to every Avenger he could think of, hoping not only Steve and Bucky but a few others could make it- he would rather quit coffee forever than endure the awkward tension of a week-long road trip alone with them. Unfortunately, only a few teammates were available to assuage the hostility.

Including Peter Parker.

________________________________________

"May?"

"Yeah, honey?"

Peter ducked his head around the door. May was stooped over, emptying the dishwasher. He padded across the burnished linoleum floor to help her.

He had gotten the invite that morning, had seen Peter printed on the envelope and snatched it out of May's sight instinctively. He had to read it through several times to comprehend it.

"Mr Stark? A road trip? Pennsylvania? ME?"

It was one of the moments in his life when he'd felt really... special. Valued. It was Spider-Man who was cool, Spider-Man who got the girls. As Peter Parker, he felt like a poor compensation. Especially because only Mr. Stark and May knew about his web-slinging alter ego. Oh, and Ned and MJ. 

People like Flash made sure he knew how pathetic Peter was. Often, it felt like even Mr. Stark preferred Spider-Man to Peter Parker, only calling him when he needed the superhero's help. Which was almost never. Still getting treated like a kid.

So along with the inevitable confusion (why a road trip??), Peter felt a surge of pride. Mr. Stark had thought of him, thought him enough of an Avenger to let him on a trip. He would finally get to meet everyone in person- and properly, not just in the middle of a battle.

Maybe these excursions were a regular occurrence; maybe Mr. Stark only now considered Peter fit to attend.

He had to go. But how to tell May? It was such a strange idea; he knew she didn't trust Mr. Stark, despite him being fricking Iron Man.

"Uhh... I- we're not busy on-um-on the 22nd to the 28th, are we?"

"No, I don't think so. Why, you got a romantic getaway?"

"Well, not actually that far off," was his ill-advised reply.

"Wait, what? Really? You've got a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?" She eyed him suspiciously, but with a suppressed grin which suggested she didn't really expect him to have a secret partner.

"Oh, no- not that," he backtracked furiously. He did not want to discuss that with anyone right now. But a "getaway"... kinda," he finished, lamely.

She cocked her head quizzically. "What do you mean, Peter?" 

"Well... Mr. Stark just gave me this sorta invite and it's for an- an Avengers road trip to Pennsylvania, I know, weird, right, but it's probably a regular thing but he only thinks I'm ready now so I guess that means he sort of thinks of me as an Avenger and I really want to go and see all the others because imagine how awesome that would be but I mean if it's not cool with you that's fine I guess we can-"

"Peter! Slow down, okay? I got- Stark, a- a road trip? Just you and him? Or the whole team?"

"Um, I'm not sure, I think he's invited the whole team though. Come on, May! Imagine how cool that would be! "

She sighed. "I don't want to disappoint you, Peter, but I just don't know if it'll be safe. Some of those people... they've done bad things, Pete. I just...don't want you out of my sight if I can help it." In her eyes, he saw Ben's laughing face, covered in blood.

"Okay." It was said quietly, with a defeated undertone. Peter didn't want to upset May. He loved her.

"But I also don't want to ruin your life."

Peter looked up.

"Tell you what; if you promise, and I mean promise, not to go running off in the suit while you're on that trip... I'll let you go."

"Really? Really!" The surge of pride and joy was back; Peter practically felt himself bouncing off the walls. A grin split his face.

"Yeah, really!" she chuckled, bemused, pulling him in for a hug and ruffling his hair fondly. "But seriously: promise me."

He met her eye steadily. 

"I promise not to use my suit, or go out as Spider-Man, while on the road trip." As he said the words, the gleam in his eye only intensified.

"That's my boy." She winked at him. "Well, you'd better... pack, then?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, you still want that signed picture of Thor?"

She turned abruptly from the cutlery drawer-"Uh, yeah!" - and nodded furiously. May had an unabashed infatuation with Thor.

"Well, shouldn't be too hard to talk it out of him, should it?" 

________________________________________

When the kid staggered in the front doors of the compound under the heavy weight of a camping rucksack twice the size of him, Tony had to bite back an involuntary giggle.  
He was red in the face, not only, as Tony imagined, with the embarrassment of his huge burden, no doubt a product of May's worrying over his safety, but also from the ridiculously large yellow puffa jacket he was sporting, which had been zipped up to his dimpled chin. 

"Well, you'll certainly stop traffic," Tony said as Peter waddled towards him.

"I know," Peter sighed, panting softly with the heat. "May got paranoid and said she wouldn't let me leave if I didn't wear it."

"Well, she's not here anymore, is she?"

Peter looked offended, but it was difficult to take him seriously when he vaguely resembled a piss-covered Mega Marshmallow.  
"She made me promise!" 

"Alright, alright. as long as you're happy getting chummy with the team in that." 

As the thought struck him, the kid flushed to an alarming shade of brick-red.

"Oh, shoot," he muttered.

"No need to stress out; turns out a lot of them are "way too busy" for a little bonding time." Tony scoffed. The trip was going to be interesting, that was for sure.

"Who's coming?" the excess of energy which had been, until now, surprisingly lacking in the kid, suddenly returned; he bounced a little on his feet.

"We got... Clint, Nat, Bruce, Steve, Bucky, and yours truly."

"Wow!" His eyes were the size of dinner plates. 

The kid's unabashed adoration of the Avengers was both flattering and heartbreaking to Tony. Because they just didn't deserve the respect of this wide-eyed, ridiculously smart, devoted, badass teen. Least of all him. How Peter looked up to him was beyond him.

He'd told him once, when Peter had said, "I just wanted to be like you!" that he had wanted the kid to be better. He never regretted saying that. Peter could do so much better than him. So much better. 

Why had he got himself into the kid's life in the first place? Tony Stark, fucker-up of everyone else's life, would only do the same to this innocent, highly impressionable teen. He already had. 

So why had he invited him on a goddamn road trip?  
________________________________________

"Alright, listen up!"

Peter immediately sprung to attention. Bucky slowly lifted his gaze to rest on Tony's arc reactor. Clint tapped Natasha and she sprang into a sitting position, crumbs stuck to her cheek. Steve continued driving; frankly, he was thankful to have only one set of wary eyes on him.

Tony braced an arm against the wall as he spoke. "Thought it would be prudent to give you all a little team briefing before we go ahead with these shenanigans. This probably seems crazy; to me most of all: we've never done anything like this." Tony noticed Peter cock his head gently in confusion. "But we got six days together and no tech, so please don't start tearing each other's hair out until we end this trip and you're not my responsibility anymore." Why did he have to joke about that?

The no-tech thing was stupid, really. It was something Steve had dreamed up; a condition on which he would go on the trip. It didn't exactly do wonders for Tony's anxiety, but stashing a spare gauntlet in the campervan had done a little to assuage his fear at not being able to protect the people he loved.

Since Afghanistan, he couldn't bear to be completely without a means of defending himself, and those around him. He'd be damned if he let anyone go through something like that. 

"So, we're headed for Kraven State Park, in Pennsylvania. We should get there by Thursday, but we'll stop every night so you can all get your beauty rest," he said, glancing jokingly at Bucky but really referring to Peter. He would not be the one to mess up the kid's sleep schedule up for good.  
"This trip was intended to be a way of bringing us all together-" He saw Steve glance back then, first at Tony, then at Bucky- "So let's do just that. I know there aren't a lot of us but that doesn't mean we can't have a good time." He flashed a warm smile around the campervan. If this trip was... successful, the Avengers might just get a shot at being whole again.

"And I'd also like to introduce you all to our newest-albeit unofficial- member of the team: Peter." 

Clearly, the kid had not been expecting that. He flushed with embarrassment and pleasure, gave the heroes around him a shy and yet enthusiastic grin, and a small "hey guys."

Tony could already see the Avengers falling for the kid's bashful charms: Bucky's stormy face was already clearing and he could practically see hearts coming out of Nat's eyes as the maternal instinct Tony knew was there finally kicked in in the presence of this puppy-like teenager. As they gave him a polite clap, he beamed with pride.

He was so scared of breaking him.

Why had he gone along with this road trip?

And why had he invited the kid, of all people, on a trip where Tony couldn't protect him for shit?


	2. Day 1: Evening - So Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's- your- your song was just so beautiful." He sniffed and gave Tony a watery smile as the billionaire circled his hands around Peter's upper arms and looked him in the eye.  
> "Really? It moved you that much?" Mr. Stark smiled faintly, sympathetically, but his eyes suggested he was warring between being flattered and concerned.  
> Peter nodded wordlessly.  
> "You sure? That's all?" Tony brushed a hand over Peter's forehead.  
> "Yeah," replied Peter, although there was so much he hadn't told Tony, hadn't told anybody. He felt both alone and loved, burdened by his secrets but protected by Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: description of a panic attack and mentions of self-harm.  
> I'M SO SORRY GUYS

Peter couldn't breathe.

Crouched on the floor of the bathroom. Home alone.

There was air around him. He had a perfectly normal pair of lungs, so far as he knew. So why was he choking?

He never knew he could curl up as small as he was now. Bitter tears streamed down his face. He shook with every shaky attempt at drawing breath. His face was screwed up with the sheer terror of finding you are drowning in thin air.

He hated this. His fourth panic attack in the month. The shame of it, of having freaked out for no apparent reason, drew more tears from his eyes, wetting his rumpled clothes. He hated the gulping sound he made when he finally managed to catch a shallow breath. 

He hated how all he could think about was the warehouse, the crushing weight of cold, unforgiving metal and concrete on his chest, on his back, on the backs of his legs, pinning down his arms and neck...

A soft sob forced itself from Peter's throat. He was shaking now.

He had to stop. He had to stop. May would be getting home soon. He didn't want her to see him like this. 

So he did the only thing which had always woken him up, snapped him out of it, stopped him from being stupid.

He didn't really use his razor for much anyway. He told Aunt May it was for shaving, but he had never had any substantial facial hair.

There was something almost comforting in the uniform lines of red which appeared across his legs. They were a real, solid thing, there on him; he could prove it to himself when he woke up from nightmares where the lines of reality and imagination blurred, could press down and feel real pain and see where he had made his mark- and know he could control it.

He was Spider-Man, too. He should be able to deal with baddies tipping shit on him or whatever. The Avengers dealt with that all the time without batting an eyelid.

Mr. Stark probably didn't call him much because he didn't want to have to deal with a stupid emotional breakdown on the battlefield.

See- his breathing was already beginning to even out as he stared, almost transfixed, at the slow progress of the razor. 

After he was certain the panic was gone, he picked himself up, roughly washed his face to get the tear tracks off, changed into jogging bottoms - he couldn't risk wincing in pain while he was around May- and got out his textbooks to do some AP Physics.

 

"Peter! You okay? Had a nice day?" May bustled into the apartment.

"Yeah." Peter's answer was not unenthusiastic- he felt okay now.

So why had he been struggling to breathe just fifteen minutes ago?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Steve's uncharacteristically hesitant voice cut through the low chatter of the other Avengers.

"Uh... here we are?"

It was posed as a question because they had arrived in an area of sparse woodland, completely deserted.

Wordlessly, Bruce stalked over towards the driver's seat and took the huge folding map from him. He pored over it for a good few minutes.

Tony faceplanted internally. 

"Well, where were we supposed to be?" Bucky offered, rising from his seat and stretching.

"Mr. Stark?" 

The kid glanced nervously in his direction.

Tony honestly didn't know exactly where they were supposed to stay that night. But the shaky look on the kid's face spurred him into action.

"Yeah, this is the place! Did you expect Stark-level luxury? Afraid you'll only get that inside the campervan, kiddo." He smirked.

Steve seemed like he was about to object; Tony stopped him with a sharp look and a firm, "This is definitely the right place. Think I didn't plan this, Glamor Pants?"

Understanding, Steve shook his head subtly at Tony. "Let's just say you're not exactly the most organized guy I've ever met, Bucket Head."

"Ouch. Low blow, dude." 

They both sniggered. It felt close to old times. A small part of Tony's heart he had shoved in a corner lit up, just a little, at the easy banter.

"Okay, so can we get sorted? I, for one, am craving marshmallows right now," piped up Clint, jumping up from where he had been slouched on the sofa.

"Yes!" Natasha enthused, perking up. "We can have a good old-fashioned campfire... sing songs..." 

"I brought my guitar," added Tony. "Sound good, Spidey?"

He said it flippantly, but he didn't want the kid getting peer-pressured into a night of potentially awful singing.

But he needn't have feared. The kid's face had already cleared, remarkably quickly, and he nodded, a bright beam on his face, as he tugged Bucky's sleeve and beckoned Clint and Nat outside the campervan. "This is going to be so awesome!"

Within the few hours of travel from the compound to this questionable-looking "campsite", Tony had witnessed, impressed, Peter's seemingly unconscious ability to make those around him fall for him. By 2 pm, he and Bruce were animatedly discussing some complex strand of quantum physics. By 3, he was hanging out on the couch with Nat and Clint. 4, they were calling him "buddy" and "Pete" like they were friends of the family.

He had even managed to win Bucky over, enthusing over his metal arm and joking, "Dude, what shampoo do you use?", prompting a subtle and suave hair flick from Barnes.

Tony hadn't known Underoos would have played such a vital part in reuniting the fractured team. Maybe, just maybe, he'd made the right choice after all.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

A few hours later, and night had finally fallen, exposing tiny, fiercely glowing stars in the heavens. They were almost as bright as the faces of the heroes around him. Almost, but not quite.

A campfire, lit and built mostly by Steve (the only Avenger to have been a Boy Scout) flickered and spat in front of Tony. Around him, in rickety camping chairs, sat his team. He bit back a laugh as Peter cried out in anguish from beside him; his "marshmallow kebab" had slipped off its stick and into the flames. Clint cackled and slapped him on the back, imitating a commentator: "And Parker drives it home once again with a solid fail!"

Peter feigned tears. "Dude! That kebab was my pride and joy!"

Bucky patted him on the back in mock-consolation. "With enough training, you will succeed, young Padawan."

"Wait, you've seen Star Wars?"

"Yep. It was on Steve's list."

Steve looked up from his drawing- Tony sneaked a glance and saw what looked like Bucky's face (what?)- and concurred. "It has all the things people thought we should, you know, experience, to bring us up to speed on modern times."

Tony smirked. "And yet you, Mr. Arts and Crafts, have remained largely untouched by the influence of modern tech." 

Steve shook his head, seeming almost exasperated by Tony's quips. "I just like drawing."

"What is it?" enquired Bruce, leaning towards the ornate-looking drawing pad.

"Oh, just a sketch, not much," was Roger's flippant reply.

Natasha piped up: "Hey, you should draw us!"

"What, as Avengers?" Tony could almost see ideas forming in Steve's eyes already. To say the truth, Tony wished he had a hobby as relaxing as drawing. Funnily enough, tearing his house apart to make new elements was not always an option.

"I dunno, maybe just as us. How you see us."

"Okay, sure. I'll surprise you all with drawings at the end of the trip." He clapped his hands together and seemed to get right to work, thumbing open a new page.

"You can draw, Mr. Rogers? That's so cool! The textbooks never said that!"

Peter seemed to immediately regret what he had said and dug his nails into his legs.

"You can call me Steve, son. And I hope you can learn a lot more than what's in the textbooks about me on this trip. But thanks." Steve ducked his head but a bashful smile pulled at his lips.

A friendly silence ensued, with Peter, Clint, and Bucky finally done with their marshmallows.

Nat was fondly cradling Tony's elegant black guitar. "Where'd you get this from, Tones?"

"Oh, some crazy little curiosity shop in Bangkok. It was sitting there in a corner, looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in ages. The owner said I could have it for half price; he thought it was worthless because no-one ever seemed to want to buy it. But I tested the strings- and they were all in tune. The shop owner said he'd never tuned it. I've never had to tune it since." Peter could see Tony's eagerness to share the story of his guitar. 

He thought it was awesome that despite saving the world on multiple occasions, so many of the Avengers also had hidden talents, hobbies they didn't have to share with the general public, which seemed to so enthrall and engage them. They didn't just live huge-scale lives, they had interests like anyone else.

It helped him feel a little better about his dumpster-diving tendencies.

Panicking didn't count as a hobby, he supposed.

Natasha started picking out a gentle, simple riff. Her fingers were soft but agile on the strings of the guitar. "This is one of mine," she spoke, before breathing in and beginning:

'Do you remember  
How we've fallen asleep  
on the bathroom floor

Wasn't always pretty  
on the white tiles  
Cold as the sound  
of your daddy's house...'

Her voice, husky but soothing as a mother singing a lullaby, made Peter start to tremble. He had to stick his fingers into the cuts on his legs to make himself stop thinking of his mum, how she'd sing 'La Vie En Rose' to him to get him to sleep or calm him down.

'Awake abandoned  
Smoke out the window floors  
From your daddy's house

You're alive today  
Small hands of a woman  
With an animal heart

Maude says  
Bury your hearts or bombs  
Gentle screams  
As we made it home.'

Her voice had been so quiet, you had to really listen to hear it. Steve had put down his pencil and was staring deeply at Nat's hands as they moved dexterously across the fretboard.

As she finished, the enchanting atmosphere disappeared, leaving Peter feeling strangely... empty. Sad. Glancing around the circle of camping chairs, he noticed similar expressions on the faces of the other Avengers.

Bucky began a round of applause. "That was something," he remarked softly, appreciatively. Natasha blushed. Peter felt almost jealous of her amazing talent. Would he ever be anywhere near as good as her at music?

But he brushed the feeling away. He had no right to be jealous or resentful. She deserved to have recognition for her talents. She was so much better than he could ever be.

He realized then that Tony had taken the guitar from her, and had begun to strum in a way that suggested the original accompaniment had been on piano. It was lilting and soft; it paired loud and quiet notes together as if they were intertwined.

He kept his head ducked the duration of the song, so Peter couldn't take a glimpse at Mr. Stark's face, but the raw emotion communicated in the lyrics and tone of his voice was such that Peter would have been surprised if that emotion hadn't been mirrored in his face.

'This is the night I've been dreaming of forever  
The mirror takes a look at my face  
I'll never set foot in that rat hole again  
But I'll drive to your place..'

He began quietly. His voice was gravelly; it sounded as close to his speaking voice as Peter had ever heard. He was singing "rathole" but somehow it was the most beautiful thing Peter had ever heard. He choked back a laugh, and unexpectedly, tears sprang to his eyes. For once, he didn't wipe them away.

'I spit gravel as I back out of the back door  
And the twenties roll around in my hand  
It's funny now when I don't show up on Monday  
They'll go nuts and eat their hats, well what do you think of that?'

'She says you're throwing life away  
To move with a man like me  
She's not blind  
She just don't have a mind to see...'

Peter realised he didn't know much about Mr. Stark's personal life, but he thought this song would be enough of an explanation of the suffering he had endured. 

In that moment, Peter could relate to Tony Stark more than he ever had before.

'This is a habit I'm breaking now forever  
I'm weary from trying to shake it  
So when I ask if you won't give me your hand  
I'll take it right now from your mother's side of town...'

At this line, Tony's voice crescendoed to an almost-yell, the grit in his tone increasing. He held the note and dipped into the next stanza with fervor.

'She says you're throwing life away  
To move with a man like me  
She's not blind  
She just don't have a mind to see!'

The word "see" was held for so long, Peter couldn't hold back a small gasp at the emotional depth Tony could convey. His face was hot with tears, but it was almost a relief to not hold them back anymore; to let the pure emotion of the song sweep him off his feet.

'She says you're throwing life away  
To move with a man like me  
Just to move with a man like me.'

The last chorus was quieter again, contemplative, regretful but glad at the same time.

Peter was only dimly aware of another, even stronger round of applause, before someone's hand was on his shoulder.

"Hey, kid. Kid. You alright?" It was Tony, crouching down to reach his level, looking him concernedly over as if to spot potential injuries.

Weakly, Peter nodded. "It's just..."

"What is it? Tell me, Peter. It's alright." 

The sound of his name only brought fresh tears to his eyes. Mr. Stark had never called him Peter, ever. Not until now. Without thinking, Peter leaned into him and let out a sharp sigh.

Tony seemed genuinely frightened. "Does it hurt? Are you sick?" he returned the hug but gently, as if afraid Peter would break.

Peter was suddenly aware of the other Avengers. He couldn't see their faces through the haze of tears, but he imagined they were confused, as was Mr. Stark. 

"It's- your- your song was just so beautiful." He sniffed and gave Tony a watery smile as the billionaire circled his hands around Peter's upper arms and looked him in the eye.

"Really? It moved you that much?" Mr. Stark smiled faintly, sympathetically, but his eyes suggested he was warring between being flattered and concerned.

Peter nodded wordlessly.

"You sure? That's all?" Tony brushed a hand over Peter's forehead.

"Yeah," replied Peter, although there was so much he hadn't told Tony, hadn't told anybody. He felt both alone and loved, burdened by his secrets but protected by Tony.

"Aw, c'mere," and Mr. Stark pulled him in for another hug. His hand went to the back of Peter's head almost instinctively, as if he was cradling a child younger than he.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of minutes later, and Peter was chatting with Bruce. He looked happy again.

But Tony knew better than to assume Peter was fine. He could see in the kid what he knew he had in himself; the habit of covering up his pain with a cheerful, enthusiastic exterior. Much of that might have been genuine, but the way Peter immediately started joking about the situation was all too familiar.

God, he'd already had a detrimental effect on the kid's mental health. He knew this would happen.

"Hey, Pete," he heard Natasha say from across the quaint little circle of camping chairs, "d'you think you could sing us something?"

Peter immediately flinched. The movement was small but violent.

"Uh... I- I dunno..." his hand went up to the back of his neck; his legs curled up slightly underneath him.

A flare of something went through Tony. It was just like what he'd felt earlier, comforting Peter. Some paternal instinct, rising from the ashes of- the general shit he had tipped over it? He realized it had been the first time he had called the kid by his real name. He had always wanted to distance Peter from himself, hadn't wanted his bad habits to rub off on him. But it had felt... right when the name had slipped out of his mouth.

"You don't have to do everything that bunch wants you to do, Pete; it's not like you're getting paid for this or anything." It was a joke, but Tony said it firmly.

"No." Peter's voice was small but determined. "Yeah, I'll sing if you guys want me too?" He looked questioningly around the circle.

"Go ahead," said Bucky reassuringly.

"Alright," Peter breathed. He picked up Tony's guitar, somewhat hesitantly, and muttered: "Sorry if I mess up."

Tony prided himself on being familiar with many brands of obscure and alternative music, but this was a piece he'd never heard of before. He wondered if the kid had written it himself.

The riff was a blend of chords and single notes, soft but not shy. Thoughtful. There was an element of melancholy.

Then, Peter's voice joined the strummed notes. The key was high; he nearly laughed at how high the kid's voice could still reach. That kid would be doomed when his voice finally broke.

'Years, days, makes no difference to me babe  
You look exactly the same to me  
Ain’t no time, crossing your legs inside the diner  
Raising your coffee to your lips, the steam...'

His voice sounded like none other Tony had ever heard: the high pitch made it sound like the song of an angel, the unbroken quality of his voice, punctuated with a soft vibrato, as pure and as sweet as a ray of sunshine. And yet there was an undercurrent of melancholy to the tune which Tony knew must come from the suffering the kid had been through in his short life. 

'You saw the masterpiece, she looks a lot like you  
Wrapping her left arm around your right  
Ready to walk you through the night.'

When Peter sang the word "you", it sounded as if he were addressing each Avenger individually. 

'You whisper to a restless ear, “can you get me out of here?  
This place smells like piss and beer, can you get me out?”  
You were asking me, how to get you free  
I only know the recipe to roam...'

'You saw the masterpiece, she looks a lot like you  
Wrapping her left arm around your right  
Ready to walk you through the night.'

Tony wanted to laugh. Was it possible that this teenager had experienced love so fiercely that he could inject these words with such raw, raw feeling?

'Old stars  
Filling up my throat  
You gave 'em to me when I was born  
Now they’re coming out  
Laying there on the hospital bed  
your eyes were narrow, blue and red  
You took a draw of breath and said to me...'

'You saw the masterpiece, she looks a lot like me  
Wrapping my left arm round your right  
Ready to walk you through the night.'

'Old friends, old mothers, dogs and brothers  
There’s only so much letting go you can ask someone to do  
So I keep you by my side, I will not give you to the tide  
I'll even walk you in my stride, Marie...'

'Cause I saw the masterpiece, she looks a lot like you  
Wrapping your left arm round my right  
Ready to walk me through the night.'

There was a stunned silence after the song had finished.

"Was it bad?" Peter stammered. "I'm sorry, I haven't been playing for very long, goddamnit I knew it would end up like this, I'm so sorry-"

"Peter," Natasha interrupted. "That was... amazing. I loved it. Where did you learn all of that?"

He faltered, furrowing his brow in what looked like confusion. His gaze darted around, catching the eye of all the Avengers around him, looking for some sort of validation, furrowing at his bottom lip.

Steve responded by standing from his chair and clapping.

Tony was quick to follow, because Steve may have made some awful decisions in his lifetime, but this was not one of them. He only hoped the sound approval of two heroes Peter seemed to look up to so much would make him realize just how talented he was. 

It broke his heart to see how unaware Peter was of his own talent.

He knew he'd screw up that kid's life eventually. This was just more proof.

Slowly, Bruce, Clint, Bucky, and Nat all stood from their seats and clapped enthusiastically.

And Peter just stared up at them all, dumbfounded.

All he could think was, why are they, the Avengers, applauding me? I'm not even worth their attention- why are they clapping?

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony didn't want to baby the kid, but he still checked he was alright before he headed off to bed.

Peter was already fast asleep after what Tony knew had been both a physically and emotionally draining day. He hadn't even turned the light off.

And tucked in his arms was a teddy so ratty it was a wonder it hadn't fallen apart yet.

An Iron Man teddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: I'M SO SORRY WHAT HAVE I DONE TO PETER!!  
> So to begin... thank you for the incredible response from the first chapter! All those who commented, you really brightened up my day my lovelies! Keep up the good work guys XD  
> The songs Natasha and Tony sang are actually written by Scarlett Johanssen and Robert Downey Jnr respectively; they're called 'Song for Jo' and 'Man Like Me'. The song Peter sings is 'Masterpiece' by Big Thief.  
> I made a playlist! It includes the songs sung around the campfire and some others that I thought fitted the tone of the fic. Here's the Spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/user/e1yasj5qw4lcpqqhse0tmnxi3/playlist/2NxhtPHJrPITHDqVB1L9UV?si=FrPCEX27R9KFprCX-E8Emw  
> Just to clarify Tony and Peter's relationship will not be romantic, more just affectionate like father and son.  
> Have a great day and stay safe! xx


	3. Day 2: Morning - Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, do you know what your name is?" said Bruce softly to Peter.  
> "Peter," whispered the kid. He glanced up at Tony with what seemed like confusion.   
> What if he didn't remember who any of them were?  
> But the kid relaxed into Tony's hold, letting his head tip back. "Woah, kid, careful," said Tony.  
> "You know who that is?" asked Bruce, gesturing to Tony.  
> "Yeah," was the quiet, slightly slurred reply. "It's dad."

Surprisingly, Peter was the first of the Avengers to wake up the next morning. As a teen, he often felt obliged to sleep in until noon, but he'd always been one of those sensible kids who went to bed early so they could get up earlier the next morning.

A watery sun was beginning to make its way over the horizon. 'Perfect,' he thought, as he slipped on his favourite khaki jacket and sprung lightly out of the campervan into the dewy morning.

There was so much free, open space in this campsite. The air was clearer by far than it was in the busy streets of Queens.

For once, Peter felt as if he could breathe. Really breathe.

He made a beeline for the trees as soon as he was out. It was funny how, as a kid, he had been terrified of heights, but since the spider bite he had felt much more at home among the tops of rooves and trees, watching the sun make its progress across the sky.

The spider bite.

Peter had to shake himself to shed that memory.

It was more difficult to scale the tree without his webs than he had expected, but if Spider-Man had a fault, it was not wrong-footedness. He was teetering on the top branch after half a minute.

"Wow..." he breathed as he took in the surrounding landscape. The road they had come in on was more of a path than an actual road; it was barely marked out from the wide, grassy area surrounding it. The site was huge- way bigger than Peter had thought. The spots of dew on the grass caught the gentle light of the rising sun like millions of tiny glimmers in someone's eyes. From the treetops, the Avengers campervan seemed small but was surrounded by woodland. 

Peter hadn't thought he would ever feel so safe without his suit on.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

When he saw the small form of someone emerging from the campervan, Peter yelled, "Hey! Hey, look at me!"

The figure turned, revealing the puffy and sleepy-looking face of Bruce Banner. He had the largest mug of coffee in his hand that Peter had ever seen, but looked as if he were sleepwalking all the same.

Bruce then promptly dropped his coffee. He began to run towards the treeline. 'That's- odd,' thought Peter.

Only when Bruce had reached the treeline did Peter begin to hear him yelling, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Peter, are you stuck? What have you done? Oh my god-"

"Don't worry Dr. Banner it's alright!" Peter hollered back. He jumped down and swung on one of the branches to demonstrate his point.

All the colour drained from Bruce's face.

"Oh, did that scare you? Sorry, I'm fine though, really, I got this! It's so cool up here!" 

He guessed the yelling had woken Tony up; he had begun to jog towards the tree to join Bruce.

"Dr. Banner, it's just my spider powers? You see?" Peter lifted his feet up to join his hands on the underside of the branch.

"Peter, STOP!" he could dimly hear Bruce's screams from the ground. "How the fu- the HECK ARE YOU DOING THAT?"

"MY SPIDER POWERS! I CAN DO COOL FLIPS AND STUFF BECAUSE I STICK TO THE WALLS!"

At this point, Peter thought it would be wise to get down from the tree to preserve the doctor's sanity. He nimbly hopped from branch to branch, enjoying the feeling of control as he made his way down the branches. He let out an exhilarated whoop. Hopefully Tony was already getting Bruce to calm down.

Sure enough, when he reached the ground, bouncing a little on the tips of his toes, Bruce's expression had changed to one of shock and fear to amazement.

"That was smooth! Nice one, kid," remarked Tony, giving him a clap on the back and an approving grin. "Although maybe don't go scaring Green Guy over here like that again."

"I'm sorry," said Bruce, shaking his head in self-deprecation. "It's- I knew you were Spider-Man, but I guess I didn't make the connection between you... and the guy swinging around Queens."

"Don't worry, not many people see me doing Spider-Man stuff as Peter anyway." Peter shrugged.

Bruce let out a slightly shaky breath; Peter instinctively leaned in for a quick hug. He felt Bruce tense slightly against him at first, but eventually, he seemed to relax into the embrace. Peter's head fitted snugly under Bruce's chin.

"You sure you're okay now?" Peter said with a slight grin. "You won't... get angry or anything?"

Bruce let out a short laugh. "Trust me, kid, Hulk hasn't come out for a while."

"Ok... good?"

They laughed.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter nearly screamed when what looked like Clint staggered out of the campervan.

His hair was completely flat on one side of his face, which looked suspiciously squashed and covered in lines from sleeping heavily on it, and bore an uncanny resemblance to a bird's nest on the other side. The stark contrast between bloated and red on one side and pale and squashed on the other gave him, to Peter's overactive imagination, the appearance of some strange zombie-alien mutant. In the space of a few seconds, Peter had poised his arms in front of him and pressed down on his wrists where his webshooters should be.

Only they weren't on his wrists- no tech on the trip- and it was Clint after all. Peter remained frozen in place for a second, however, trying to make sense of the situation.

Clint looked at him quizzically.

"Uh, sorry," he mumbled, lowering his arms slowly. "Just... you look... different in the morning."

Tony was the first to laugh, snorting into his cereal and getting milk up his nose. Within seconds, everyone in the group was howling with laughter both at Clint's bedraggled appearance and at the milk covering Tony's face.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, Spider-Guy, seeing as you're so eager to get on with tree parkour, why don't you try a little sparring with some of the other guys?" Tony suggested as they dried the breakfast dishes (a task which Peter had had to advise Tony on, who had never done washing-up in his life).

"Like, here? Today?"

"Yeah, maybe. You could teach them some of your mad skills."

Peter huffed out a laugh. "I think they'd probably have a lot more to teach me... you know, I've never actually trained like that."

The thought had never occurred to Tony. God, now he felt guilty. The kid had had to learn how to use his powers pretty much by himself. The way he'd swung gracefully down the tree, he’d learnt that himself.

That kid was incredible.

"Nah, I saw what you did on that tree. That was some crazy shi- stuff there."

"You know, Mr. Stark, you can swear around me if you want."

"I don't think your aunt would be particularly pleased if she heard I was screaming profanities at you as soon as I was out of her sight."

"You're not screaming profanities! Everyone is just cutting themselves off before they swear and I know what they were about to say anyway so that's unfair Mr. Stark-"

"Kid," said Tony, "don't freak out. If you wish for it so desperately, we'll swear around you. And you know you can call me Tony, right?"

Peter smiled, chucking the dishcloth in his face. "Yessir."

 

Tony Stark, billionaire, creator and owner of the Iron Man suit and founding member of the Avengers, felt like an unpopular kid alone at recess.

He and Bruce were back in their camping chairs, on the sidelines of the sparring session that had just kicked off. The no-tech rule meant Tony was basically useless compared to these super-humans and combat professionals, and Bruce thought it best not to Hulk out during the trip. Besides, he'd been having some... performance issues since he had lived in Sakaar for two years.

Admittedly, it was pretty impressive to see the other Avengers at work.

Peter and Steve were by a tree; Peter was crawling around on the lowest branch as Steve gave him tips, looking slightly frustrated by the kid's excess energy. Peter, however, did seem to be eagerly taking in all the information given to him by the intense eye contact he retained with Steve, even as he roved about the bottom of the tree.

Close by them, Clint and Natasha were already sparring, their movements so fast Tony couldn't make each individual move out, just a general blur. 

The no-tech rule had naturally extended to prohibit weapons, so Clint had had to leave his beloved bow and arrows behind and Natasha her various knives, garrottes, and sprays, but both were fearsome warriors with or without their weapons.

Bruce could see the connection they had, how their movements complimented and predicted each others', like a dance.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time Bruce had clapped eyes on Natasha, the first thought that came into his head was, 'she's so beautiful'.

He wasn't aware at the time that she had thought the exact same thing about him.

To say the truth, he often felt inferior around her. As the man, he felt the pressure of pulling his weight: asking her out to dinner, approaching her first, holding doors open for her, all that crap.

He'd always been a dumb dork. Smart, a genius, but emotionally: dumb. Insensitive. Unaware, sometimes. 

Well, apparently, "chicks dig that"...

Nat's unwavering confidence, even in the face of tragedy, made him weak at the knees.

God, he sounded like his damn grandpa.

But she wasn't all gun-pulling, sweet-talking, leg-scissoring badassery. She was the type of woman who'd pick up on a movie reference and carry it on. And she understood why he wasn't a fighter. She liked it. She liked him.

At Clint's house, she had given him just the tiniest glimpse into her childhood- to why she couldn't be with him in a normal way- and that tiny glimpse of horror was enough to make Bruce eternally respect her.

But it also meant they wouldn't be able to settle down, get married, have kids, go on dates.

Well, that had kind of been a given from the first time he'd gone green.

 

You could never quite be sure where you were with Nat. But the few nights they had spent together in secret, lying with their foreheads touching as they just talked for hours, had cemented Bruce's love for her. They weren't all that interested in sex- instead, they would map out each other's faces with gentle fingers, trying to imprint the image of each other in their minds.

Bruce was aware that something... big was coming. Thanos. Every night Natasha wasn't there, he'd wake up from dreams where she was tortured and murdered in ways that made Bruce marvel at the creativity of his brain and want to throw up at the same time.

They had been planning on announcing the official relationship to the team on the road trip, but they hadn't managed to get a single moment of time alone since the start of the trip.

He didn't want to pressure her or anything. All he wished for was for her to be happy, to shed her past and be finally free.

But seeing her so comfortable around Clint sparked an anger in him that he had worked to tamp down since the gamma ray accident. It was stupid. Barton was happily married, had kids; he was friends with Nat, nothing more. Maybe it was the fact that Clint was so much better off and happier family-wise, actually, that set off the jealousy.

Hearing her sing... he'd wished for the freedom to weep at her music that Peter had felt.

Everything about her was beautiful.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter was having the time of his life.

He'd been absolutely thrilled to fight Captain America in Germany; it was, at the time, the coolest thing he'd ever done. The only downside was that he couldn't really talk to anyone about it. Which was why he'd started vlogging: just to be able to enthuse about the trip to anything, even a camera lens, and to remember the first time he'd met the Avengers.

And now? Now, he was casually sparring with Cap himself, chatting, joking, getting tips. What the heck?

He had to say: he'd improved a fair deal since Germany, too. Without the suit, he was handicapped to an extent, but Cap was also without his signature shield, leaving them very well-matched.

It was a time during the trip when Peter first began to realize his own talents. It might have been that neither he or anyone else was wearing their suits, or the applause from the night before, or the compliments he got from Steve after he realized the man had a fairly predictable movement sequence and got him in an armlock. But Peter was beginning to think, 'maybe I’m not so bad…’

It was a step in the right direction- but recovery is never a smooth ascent.

As Peter scrambled up a small tree during a spar to catch his breath, a chunk of bark broke away from the tree, upsetting Peter's balance; he reached out for the trunk with outstretched fingertips, but found only air, and tumbled to the floor head- first.

Steve was the first to notice, running towards the tree as Peter fell, trying to catch him, but not reaching the trunk fast enough. He heard a dull thud as the back of the kid's head hit the floor. He skidded to a stop as he reached Peter's prone body, calling, “Tony? Uh, Bruce? He fell- Peter fell-" 

Tony was out of his camping chair like a shot, yelling at Bruce to get a first aid kit, wondering why Steve was just standing over the kid and not doing something. Checking for a pulse, assessing the injury, calling his name, something, something...

Then he was at Peter's side, his vision blurred, feeling his heart racing as if he'd just run a mile. His touch on the kid's shoulder was gentle as he said, "Kid? Goddammit, kid- Peter? Can you hear me?" he realized he was beginning to yell, but he didn't care. "Steve- get a pulse," he breathed, his breaths coming fast and short. Shit, shit, shit.

Peter didn't reply. His face was ashen, but Tony put a hand on his chest and felt a steady, if faint, breath. 

At least he was breathing. But breathing wasn't enough. Tony should never have suggested they spar, he should have told the kid to get down from those trees before he got any ideas, he should have been looking out for Peter-

"Tony- breathe, okay? Just breathe." It was Steve, pulling him gently away from Peter so Bruce, who had arrived with first aid, could assess the damage.

Tony found himself unable to speak. He nodded mutely, eyes wide with panic. His left arm was numb again. But he couldn't do this, not when Peter needed help.

Ever so gently, Bruce rolled the kid over until he was lying on his stomach and the small, dark patch of blood staining his curls was visible.

"Shit," whispered Steve.

Just then, Peter jerked awake, and, finding himself lying on his stomach, choked on the leaves littering the forest floor.

Bruce immediately turned him onto his back again.

Tony could see the kid's face again; the eyes were wide with confusion, pain, and... embarrassment?

But Tony didn't take much notice. He got onto his knees and gently held Peter up, careful to avoid the back of his head.

"Hey, hey," said Bruce softly to Peter, who seemed pretty freaked out. "Okay, do you know what your name is?"

"Peter," whispered the kid. He glanced up at Tony with a glazed expression which seemed like confusion. 

What if he didn't remember who any of them were?

But the kid relaxed into Tony's hold, letting his head tip back. "Woah, kid, careful," said Tony.

"You know who that is?" asked Bruce, gesturing to Tony.

"Yeah," was the quiet and slightly slurred reply. "It's dad."

Tony's heart stopped.

"It's Tony, kid," said Tony, in a voice so small he barely heard it himself.

"Yeah, you're Dad," and Peter punctuated this with a vague wave of his hand which hit Tony across the nose.

Despite everything, Tony couldn't hold back a small, tense laugh.

He didn't understand. What had the fall done to his brain?

Before he could say anything else, Bruce was shining a light into Peter's eyes and bombarding him with questions: "What year is it?" "What's 2 plus 2?" "Who is the current President?"

As the kid answered more questions, he appeared to become more aware of his surroundings and a little more like himself. He could even answer complex mental maths like the absolute genius Tony knew him to be.

That is, until Bruce asked, "Do you know who we all are?"

Peter gazed out dimly for a long time at the Avengers surrounding him. Bucky, Clint, and Natasha had all paused their sparring and were stood around him. Their tense expressions had begun to disappear as Peter sounded more like himself.

It was only one word. But it changed everything.

"Family."

 

A few hours later and the kid was all cleaned up, bandages on his head and back where he had fallen, and protested that he felt fine, his healing factor would take care of it.

But there was no way in hell Tony was going to let him out of bed, super healing or not.

“Come on, Tony! It was just a stupid mistake!” the kid hung his head a little in embarrassment; now the whole fiasco was over, he was more ashamed that he had fallen in front of all the other and clearly more capable Avengers.

“Nuh-uh, you little punk: you scared the living shit out of me, and this is your punishment.” Tony clasped his hands over his knee and looked down on Peter from where he sat on the neighbouring bed, an expression of mock-villainy on his face.

Peter’s face darkened; he sunk back onto the ridiculous amounts of pillows on the bed, a hand over his face.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it, kiddo.” Tony’s tone was softer now.

“But it was stupid, like I said! I was finally doing something really awesome and… I screwed it up.” The last part was said under his breath, as if he didn’t want Tony to hear it: “Just like everything else.”

Tony could see the glimmer of unshed tears in Peter’s eyes, and could almost hear his own heart cracking.

He tried to set things right. “Kid, I think you’ve got yourself all wrong here. You didn’t screw up; it could have happened to any of us. The fact that you were sticking to the tree in the first place is more than anyone else here can do.”

Peter gave a defeated chuckle at that, but locked eye contact with Tony as he continued, his brow furrowed.

“Honestly, you should be proud of yourself. You’re only fifteen, and you’re already on your way to saving the freaking world. Not bad, huh?”

Peter didn’t reply, but continued to stare at Tony.

“You’re a damn superhero, kid. You’re Spider-Man. Suit or not, mistakes or not, no-one can take that away from you.

“And all the other Avengers, they adore you, I can see it. They don’t think you’re stupid. And you’ll always have a place with them. With us.”

“I know. We’re family.”

The word made Tony freeze.

He tried to chuckle lightly. “You’ve only known them for a day, no need to get all mushy.”

But he could see the meaning in Peter’s eyes. He remembered what he had said.

{ ‘It’s dad.’ }

He saw Peter nod, a slight movement, as it dawned on him.

The moment had been one of delirium, but the kid had meant what he had said. 

He just couldn’t say it again right now.

That poor fucking kid. He didn’t want to make another parental connection because he was scared of losing another parent. First his birth parents, then Ben. 

And all before he turned 15.

When Tony was a teenager, he was a bitch. A snobby know-it-all who didn’t do anything good with his life. It took him the events of Afghanistan to finally shock him into reality. 

But the kid…

He was pretty sure Peter had never intentionally insulted anyone in his life. He built the Spider-Man suit from scratch, and not with the help of highly advanced tech and AI systems like Tony, but with trash from a dumpster and his own incredible mind.

And he’d gone out on patrols, put himself in the path of danger, to save people he’d never even met.

And yet he was still so humble, so unsure of himself.

And he had called Tony ‘dad’. 

It was like a baby had just been placed in Tony’s hands that he had no idea how to look after, but all he wanted to do was protect it.

Tony could never deserve a kid like Peter to call him Dad.

But he loved it, too.

“Okay. Get some rest now. Bye, Peter.”

Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo hope you guys like the fluffy Hurt Peter and IronDad content!  
> I was gonna post this tomorrow but then I was like... rules don't define me and so I posted it I guess?  
> So I have a dilemma about the next few chapters. I was planning on having 8 chapters before the biiiiggg climax, but the next 4 chapters *could* be fitted into 2 chapters. That would mean a faster end to the story, but more cramped chapters. If you have an opinion, please comment whether you'd prefer 2 or 4 more chapters before the real stuff goes down...  
> As always I always appreciate feedback, whether negative or positive! Have a spiffing day- or night- and love you all! xx


	4. Day 2: Evening - I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dream had been so vivid. He had been afraid this would happen; that he'd get a nightmare while on the trip.  
> Suddenly, a face appeared in the darkness.  
> "Pete, what happened?"  
> It was Bucky.  
> Peter shrunk against the wall next to his bunk, pulling his legs up in front of him in a futile attempt to hide how much he was shaking. He hid his head in the duvet as he spoke.  
> "Nothing, Bucky, go back to sleep, I'm good-"  
> "Well, that much is false.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, it's another TRIGGER WARNING: mention of self-harm and description of a panic attack and scars. I'm aware it's also in the tags but I want everyone to be aware and stay safe.

Contrary to popular belief, Steve Rogers was a mess. A hot, hot mess.

Captain America: the symbol of pride, patriotism, and physical prowess.

But he still remembered the days when bullies would punch his lights out in the street corner, and sometimes he felt like not much had changed.

Well, bigger bullies.

Despite undergoing drastic physical transformation, his moral argument had never wavered. He felt taller- much taller- but, inside, he hadn't changed. It was all that came after the experiment which had shaped his mentality.

Bucky had changed so much. He remembered the days when Steve shoved newspaper in his shoes because they were too large, when Bucky, by comparison, was the ladies' man, charming and suave. Steve had made the most of every moment spent with him because he wasn't sure if Bucky would stick around with him for much longer.

'I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.'

The words set his body on fire.

Over the years, they had saved each other- and let each other fall. Steve wished it had been him who had fallen from that train, who had been found by HYDRA, so Bucky wouldn't have been forced to endure all that he did. 

But what was done was done, and Steve only hoped Bucky would get close to recovering from his past.

They had both lived so long, they never got bored of telling each other all the memories they had made, together or alone, good or bad.

He hated how much being the Winter Soldier had broken Bucky. But he would spend his life trying to fix that wound.

Because he was the one who let him fall.

\-----------------------------------------------------

When he first realized Steve felt the same way about him that Bucky felt, Bucky had kissed him. Hard.

He had nothing to lose anymore. Before the whole Captain America thing, he had felt just a little superior to Steve. It made him angry to think those that were indifferent to him before he got ripped suddenly fell at his feet. And it made him sick to think that he was a victim of that mentality too.

He had always loved Steve, though.

He had distracted himself with countless stupid, giggling girls because that was the done thing. 

When he first thought about kissing Steve, his mind had violently rejected the idea. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but it was the 1940s. It was illegal. It wasn't right or natural. Folks would stare at them if they so much as hugged in the street.

When he woke up again under the control of HYDRA, they twisted the Steve in his mind into something cruel and ugly. A direct threat, nothing more. 

This man, Cap, he kept saying, 'You know me. You know me,' but Bucky didn't. He didn't know him, he didn't understand. All that had been drilled into his brain since he had fallen into the ice was that Captain America was his mission. To kill him, make him hurt.

'I'm with you to the end of the line.'

The words had jolted his brain, set it alight. All of a sudden, all of the memories came flooding back- Steve- and they blinded him. He could only watch as Steve plummeted into the water far, far below them.

Steve.

Bucky had been sure that when he kissed Steve in 2017, he would reject him. Push him away. Hate him forever.

It was probably the best moment of his life when Steve kissed him back.

\------------------------------------------------------

Up until then, nothing had hurt as much as this.

Could it even be described as pain? 

Surely it hadn't been that spider- could it really have been-

Peter leaned over from where he was huddled clumsily on the bathroom floor to throw up again. His stomach was beyond empty but he'd puked four times already.

He was crying, wailing like a baby. Everything burned; lights burst behind his eyes as he sobbed and retched. He could barely see, barely feel beyond the pain.

He'd been sitting there on the floor for about half an hour now, he thought, just throwing up and crying out in pain. He shook all over.

He was still at school after coming home from the trip to OsCorp. May was at work, Ben too, and Peter didn't want to call them or anything because then they'd have to leave work and he didn't want to inconvenience either of them because maybe it was just a passing thing and he didn't want to stress anyone out after he basically got dumped on their doorstep but he didn’t know what was wrong with him and h-

With a great, gulping gasp, Peter jolted awake, hitting his head hard against the ceiling of the campervan.

In spite of his healing factor and the lies he'd told about being fine, the area still hurt. He cried out softly as the impact sent a jolt down his spine and caused lights to burst behind his eyes.

Was he still in the dream? 

No, this was real- he was pretty sure- the spider bite was months ago. But this pain was real.

Peter rocked back and forth, trying to compose himself, biting back groans of pain and anguish and desperately gulping in air like a drowning man. The other Avengers were asleep. He didn't want to wake them, didn't want to go through the embarrassment of having them stand around him while he hurt himself again.

The dream had been so vivid. He had been afraid this would happen; that he'd get a nightmare while on the trip.

Suddenly, a face appeared in the darkness.

"Pete, what happened?"

It was Bucky.

Peter shrunk against the wall next to his bunk, pulling his legs up in front of him in a futile attempt to hide how much he was shaking. He hid his head in the duvet as he spoke.

"Nothing, Bucky, go back to sleep, I'm good-"

"Well, that much is false," he heard the soldier mutter. "Okay, Pete, you want to get down from there?"

"You don't need to do this Bucky!" Peter's voice was quiet but insistent. 

Bucky could see his breathing was only getting faster. He knew exactly what it felt like, to drown in thin air.

"Yes, I do. C'mon, let's get down and then we can sort you out outside." Bucky was already reaching to help Peter down. This time, he just let himself be led outside, gripping the hand holding his like a vice.

Bucky sat him swiftly down in an outdoor chair, gripped Peter's upper arms firmly but comfortingly and rubbed soothing circles into the skin as he whispered, "Okay, you're gonna breathe with me. In..." and demonstrated, sucking in a breath.

It was so hard to take a deep breath. For a while, Peter found himself unable to take in any air. His eyes widened in panic and he started to tremble again, crumpling in on himself.

Bucky leaned in to enfold Peter protectively in his arms. He curled tightly into the soldier's hug, bracing the side of his head against Bucky's chest. "Don't worry, take your time, I'm here. Let's try again. In..." Peter felt Bucky's chest rise and tried to copy it, gasping a little as the air reached his lungs.

"There you go. And out- slowly, slowly. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Peter was focusing so hard on breathing he didn't register any of Bucky's words, just the soothing tone and the ever-repeating, "In... out... in... out..."

It took a while for Peter to regain his composure. Every few minutes, his mind would trail back to the spider bite and the warehouse and-

And he'd find himself suddenly unable to breathe again. But every time, Bucky was there, hands tracing pattern's into Peter's back, whispering encouragements.

Normally, he would have got out his razor long before now. When Bucky was there, though, he felt... safe? Like he would be able to get himself out of this, not like he was just holding back a flood which would eventually come crashing down to his ruin.

The thought of really being safe brought fresh sobs to his lips, prompting a worried, "It doesn't hurt too bad, does it?" from Bucky.

Peter shook his head. "You really didn't need to do this." It was huffed out quietly between breaths.

Bucky held Peter's arms tighter."I'll say it again: Yes I did." His tone was almost angry. He looked into Peter's eyes as if he saw something bad in there.

Peter buried his face in his hands and shrunk back from the grip. Bucky let him go, his gaze lingering on the crumpled heap of a teenager. 

After a long silence, Bucky said; "I know how it feels- to wake up not knowing where you are.

"I know what it's like to be in pain and not know why. I know what it's like to not trust anyone in case they hurt the people you love. I know what it's like to feel like you've betrayed everyone you know."

"How d'you know I'm like that too?" Peter whispered thickly from behind his legs, which were curled up tightly into his chest as he made himself impossibly small.

"I could see it in your eyes." He broke off with a curt laugh. "Cliche."

Even Peter couldn't hold back a snigger. "How can you see it, though?"

"Well, when I came out of HYDRA, I hadn't seen my reflection for... months. When I finally saw myself, saw my eyes, I saw the same thing I can see in your eyes now."

Peter cocked his head. "And what's that?"

Bucky paused, frowning. "The look of someone who's suffered."

 

Waking up after decades surrounded by strangers. The agony of electricity coursing through your veins. Trying to kill your best friend. The horror of loving someone you couldn't really love.

Sitting on the bathroom floor. Trapped in a warehouse. Throwing up. Crying out for help. Getting out the razor again.

 

Bucky glanced at Peter. "How often do you get panic attacks?" he asked, out of the blue.

Peter sucked in a breath. He'd never told anyone about any of this. His hand dug into his leg instinctively as he said, his upper lip twitching, "Uh- every week, sometimes?"

Bucky immediately picked up on the hand. "Hey, don't do that." His tone was soft. Concerned. He took Peter's hand in his own, away from the scars on his leg, shielded only from view by his pyjama bottoms.

The cogs were already whirring in Bucky's brain.

Peter blanched. He cringed away from the soldier, suddenly wishing for his razor again as if he was in another nightmare and it would fix this.

He'd been doing alright sorting out his panic attacks by himself. But now, Bucky was going to work everything out, would think he was a freak, a wimp, he'd be sent away from the Avengers and into a mental hospital or something...

Bucky wasn't leaving any time soon. "Oh, Peter," he breathed.

Peter remained closed up in the prison of his own stupid body, his legs drawn up so tightly around him it hurt.

After a while, Bucky said softly, "Can I see it?"

Peter looked up sharply.

"That probably sounds really weird, you don't have to, if it'll embarrass you or stress you out-"

"Okay." 

Peter hated how small his voice was.

It was indeed weird to essentially strip to his boxers in the middle of the night in front of a guy he'd known for a total of two days.

But it was Bucky. Bucky had helped him at a time when he thought no-one would want to. Bucky had been there when no-one else had. He already felt comfortable around the soldier. He already knew more about how Peter was really dealing with life than anyone else.

The bottoms were off; Peter slipped off his shirt too and sat back down silently, his head ducked low.

Bucky didn't want to scare Peter, so he braced himself not to gasp when the kid sat back down. Instead, what he saw made him want to cry.

Angry cuts and scars in lines across the front of his legs. Traced along the muscle and ligament lines, almost like a drawing.

And across his chest and stomach, an ugly network of hundreds of even deeper, more ragged wounds. Bucky would have thought the kid's healing factor would close them up pretty fast, but maybe they were being added to so fast they didn't have time to properly repair themselves. 

Bucky didn't say a word. He just slowly and methodically removed the fabric cover on his shorter arm.

Underneath was a web of old but severe scars, ending in a mutilated stump. This was the arm of a man who had been handled by people who barely cared if he lived or died. Who saw him as an experiment: a body and nothing more. A plaything.

"I know how it feels to feel worthless. I thought this arm was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen, but slowly Steve got me to realize that it was something to be proud of. That I'd been through a difficult time, and come back still kicking.

"But Peter, you've gotta tell people if it gets that bad, if you start doing it to yourself. There are so many people out there looking out for y-"

"Who?" Peter blurted out, looking at the ground. His face glimmered in the moonlight with tears.

"Who?" echoed Bucky, anger taking over his voice. Then he steadied himself, took Peter's hand again, and leaned in to try and drive his point. "There are so many people who love you."

Peter began to say something but Bucky cut him off.

"Your Aunt. Tony told me why you walked into the compound in that coat. That sounds to me like she doesn't know what to do to protect you now you're growing up and thinking about joining the Avengers, so she resorts to making sure you don't get cold."

Peter shuffled uncomfortably in Bucky's grip. He let go, not intending to harass the kid, but maintained firm eye contact.

"All of us. The Avengers. You might not know us all that well, but once you've fought with us, you're in, buddy. We all look after each other."

"Then why do you fight?" it was sobbed out.

Bucky plowed on, choosing to ignore the question. "And especially Tony. You didn't see him when you fell out of that tree this morning, but he was really scared. He was panicking."

"Mr. Stark panics too?" Peter whispered disbelievingly.

Bucky had his full attention now. He nodded firmly. "Rhodes has told us a little about it. Ever since New York, he's suffered from pretty severe PTSD."

"Really?" The kid's eyes were full of something like relief.

"Yeah, really. He's gone through a lot, just like you. We all have. All of us have freaked out at some point in our lives. Most people have to worry about getting a good job, paying bills. We have to worry about the fate of the universe. It's kind of a given."

"I guess..."

"So don't feel guilty when you go back to the dark places you've been in. Feel proud that you've got out of them."

Peter's jaw was clenched. "But- it's still stupid that one little thing still makes me lose control like this." 

"I would bet my other arm it's not just one thing, Peter." 

Finally, the kid looked up and caught his eye.

He inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Putting you through this. I don't wanna stress you out more." Peter sounded earnest; he began to hurriedly pull on his pyjamas again. "I always end up hurting everyone else, that's why I haven't told anyone else-"

"Peter, don't be fucking sorry!" Bucky hissed. He couldn't help it; he wasn't angry at the kid, just at the cruel world, this mentality he was trapped in, which conditioned him to keep his pain to himself so as not to bother others. It broke his heart.

Peter said nothing, continuing to head shakily towards the campervan, but Bucky could see the erratic rise and fall of his chest and ran to meet him as the boy fell to the floor, wracked with sobs again.

"Oh no I'm- s-sorry I'm- sorry I'm sorry no-"

Peter just repeated those words on a loop as he sunk to the floor, hiccupping and gasping, and Bucky started the sequence all over again, cradling him as he shook uncontrollably, feeling the kid's tears falling on his chest to match the ones trailing down his own face.

"You don't have to be sorry, Peter," breathed Bucky, over and over again. "You don't have to be sorry, Pete, it's alright."

Eventually, Peter stopped talking. Started breathing normally again.

And after, he felt better. Better than he'd ever felt after a panic attack. Because now he knew that, even if he didn't have the courage to tell anyone else yet, Bucky was there. He understood.

Peter hoped he'd be able to leave his razor behind forever after this. He hoped. But he wasn't sure yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty guys catch me in hell later! ((((((:  
> I swear I’m gonna milk the shit out of the Hurt Peter Parker stuff- he’s just so SOFT I can’t   
> Hope you guys like the Peter & Bucky pairing- I thought they could sympathize with each other pretty well. We don't know whether Bucky's gonna tell the other Avengers about Peter though...  
> The premise for Peter's spider bite is courtesy of @spideling in twitter and the Bucky and Peter pairing was inspired by Thunder and Lightning by ObservationalObsessive - thank you for blessing me with prompts! If you guys have any unwritten prompts feel free to comment them because I'm already gearing up for a few more fanfics after this one and would die for some good prompts!  
> Have an absolutely corking day my babes! And remember: if something's bothering you, always tell someone else. xxx


	5. Day 3: Morning- The Kid Stays Out Of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter held out a hand to help Tony up. He took it gladly, but clearly, the kid had forgotten his own strength, managing to pull Tony up with so much force it sent him slamming into Peter.  
> They both let out a surprised, "Oof,”. Peter's expression darkened; Tony could already see his brain working, telling him that he screwed up again.  
> His instinct taking over, Tony pulled Peter in for a tight hug.  
> He could feel Peter smile and relax against his chest.  
> Was this what it felt like to be truly happy? Tony could only guess.

When Peter woke up the next morning, he felt refreshed and exhausted at the same time.

He and Bucky had ended up staying for hours outside the campervan, watching the moon's slow rise and fall across the night sky as they poured out their hearts to each other.

Bucky had told him about the time he spent under mind control, the years of having nothing to himself, not even his own brain. Peter had opened up about his guilt, low self-worth, and his fear that the people he loved would get hurt if anyone found out his secret identity.

It had been hard to say it, but it felt like just a little bit of the weight of the warehouse roof had finally been pushed off his chest- for real.

But by the time they had finally finished talking, sunrise was already approaching. Peter felt like his eyes had barely closed before Clint was shaking him gently to wake him up again.

He'd told Bucky not to talk to anyone about what happened that night. The soldier caught his eye steadily as he sat down to eat breakfast.

Bucky wouldn't tell anyone, right?

"Hey, would it be alright if I called my wife after breakfast?" Clint interjected. I know, the no-tech thing, but the kids-"

Tony interrupted with, "Sure. We don't wanna shut you off from your kids or anything. Unless that bothers you, Spangles?" he gestured to Steve, who was flipping some classic American-style pancakes, with his spoon.

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, the no-tech rule is more about suits than phones. Go ahead."

Peter was halfway through what he liked to call his Crazy Sugar Mountain- the pancakes on his plate were no longer visible under the mass of sugar, syrup, chocolate sauce, chocolate buttons, and chopped strawberries on top- when Clint retired to the campervan to video call his family. His uproarious laughter could be heard from inside.

Tony smiled wistfully.

Wistfully? What the fuck? Since when had he wanted kids?

He glanced at Peter, who was a little cross-eyed and giggling as he licked chocolate sauce from his plate.

He and Pepper had never really broached the subject of a family. It wasn't exactly a great time at the moment.

When would it ever be?

Maybe it had been the first night, when he saw the kid cry, or the next day, when he fell from that tree; all Tony knew was that this trip, this kid, had triggered something in him that made him long for kids.

It was just Peter: from his nervous, awed smile, his wide-eyed wonder, his appalling but sweet dress sense, the way he fiddled and twitched when he was excited, his high-pitched laugh, the way he stuttered when he was trying to lie, down to the tiny curls at the nape of his neck.

Tony loved that kid so much, it frightened him.

He'd held him out at arm's length before, not wanting to break him.

But when Peter had called him 'dad'...

He guessed that had been the wake-up call for him. The kid already loved him back, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

The least he could have done was return that love.

But nothing he could ever do would begin to express how much he adored that little punk.

Tony was going to say hello to a crap ton more anxiety pretty soon because now he had admitted to himself that he loved the kid- which meant if anything were to happen to him...

No. Tony would make sure Peter was kept safe. He could do that, surely.

He would sure as hell try.

\-------------------------------------------------------

"Tony, where did you get this map?" said Bruce. He had pulled over to try and make sense of where they were going, turning the map in all directions with an intense furrow in his brow.

Tony pulled himself up from where he had been lounging on the bed, imitating Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park to Peter's amusement.

"Uh… I dunno, it just kind of showed up?" he leaned on the driver's seat, peering at the ancient-looking paper map.

Having paid little attention in school, Tony's general knowledge was... pretty awful. It was a fault of his which he preferred not to advertise, however, so he pointed to New York, saying, "Well, that's where we were," and then to Pennsylvania: "And that's where we are now." 

He clapped Bruce on the back.

"Have you ever seen a map in your life?" 

Tony shrugged.

Bruce let out an exasperated breath and sunk low in his seat. "We're screwed."

"I could try." It was Steve. Tony's gaze whipped over to the man, who was awkwardly sat with Bucky asleep on his shoulder.

He raised his eyebrows dramatically at Steve, who gave him a reproachful sigh then looked down, his face reddening.

Tony hadn't been aware there were two pairs of lovebirds on the trip.

He spoke in a stage whisper, hands cupped around his mouth: "Should we bring it to you?" 

Steve nodded, whispering, "Dick."

Tony was about to fire off some snarky comeback when Peter suddenly blurted in a strange voice, "Watch your profanity."

Natasha burst out laughing, high- fiving Peter, as the others waited, confused, for an explanation.

"It's a meme, dumbasses," said Nat, choking a little.

Tony looked around at Steve, Clint, Bruce, Bucky. 

"Well,” said Tony, clapping his hands together, “I feel old." 

"Join the club," muttered Steve.

Tony shook his head, chuckling. “You wanna check out that map now, Rogers? We may need some help."

\----------------------------------------------------

"Hey, we should have some music," suggested Clint as they trundled along a narrow road so long Tony thought it would never end.

He whistled. "Your funeral, buddy.”

"What?" protested Clint, arms in the air. "It's just music..."

Glancing around at the Avengers in the campervan, Clint saw steely looks in their eyes as they locked eye contact with him.

Suddenly, the campervan burst into a cacophony of clashing music suggestions.

"Imagine Dragons!" said Peter.

"Louis Armstrong!" cried Steve and Bucky simultaneously.

"AC DC!" protested Tony.

"Classic FM!" said Bruce.

"Africa by Toto!" contributed Peter.

"The Kooks!" said Natasha.

Clint faceplanted. "How about we take it in turns... one song per person."

The Avengers groaned but consented.

It didn't take them long to reconcile their friendship when they realized that no matter how badly they thought of a song, the mere sight of the person who'd picked it jamming out to the music was infectious.

Even Bruce and Steve, who had resolutely turned their noses up at Tony's choice of Back in Black, were headbanging to the blasting beat by the final verse.

Peter wasn't sure how he'd ended up crawling around on the ceiling and aggressively lip-synching to songs. Somehow, background music had morphed into a lip-sync battle between him and Tony.

It was intense. 

The two heroes decided to team up for a final number: AC DC's 'Shoot to Thrill', sharing out lines of lyrics.

It was one of the craziest and most awesome things Peter had ever done in his life.

He felt like an utter madman, but with Tony at his side rivalling his energy he pushed himself until his face hurt with mouthing the words, his legs burned from knee sliding and his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest.

Tony had, until this moment, been always effortlessly composed and well-presented to the other Avengers. So, naturally, it was a huge change for them to see him red in the face, hair flying around everywhere, jacket off, covered in sweat patches, dancing and lip-syncing and playing air guitar so energetically Peter was certain it wasn't his first time.

As they reached the final crescendo, Peter and Tony ended up in an exhausted heap on the floor, cheering all the same as their fans applauded wildly.

Laughing and out of breath, Tony ruffled Peter's hair affectionately and said, "Well, that was something."

"You could say that." Peter blew out a breath.  
Slowly, groaning dramatically, he roused himself from where he had been lying on Tony's chest, and as the weight lifted off, Tony felt a small pang of sadness. He'd had a great time with the kid, but all good things come to an end.

Peter held out a hand to help Tony up. He took it gladly, but clearly, the kid had forgotten his own strength, managing to pull Tony up with so much force it sent him slamming into Peter.

They both let out a surprised, "Oof,”. Peter's expression darkened; Tony could already see his brain working, telling him that he screwed up again.

His instinct taking over, Tony pulled Peter in for a tight hug.

He could feel Peter smile and relax against his chest.

Was this what it felt like to be truly happy? Tony could only guess.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, volunteers to grab some groceries?" said Tony as he saw Bruce reach into the cupboard and re-emerge empty-handed and with a distraught expression.

He did not want to make Banner cranky.

Immediately, Peter jumped up. "Me! I'll go!" he enthused.

Tony grinned at his excitement at the prospect of shopping for snacks.

"We may also need someone with a means of payment..."

Steve looked up. "I can go."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Alrighty, we got a happy couple. You know where the supermarket is, right, Steve?"

"Yes," retorted Steve, "As a matter of fact, I can read a map. Crazy, I know."

Peter understood why they had fought. Even after their big dispute was over, they still used any available opportunity to squabble.

It was kinda funny.

"Ooh. Should I be letting you take my k- the kid out with that sass?"

'My kid.'

Peter's heart leapt.

"Funnily enough, I think your 'sass' may have already rubbed off on him." Steve put his hands on his hips, Cap-style.

Peter decided to put a stop to the useless tiff. "Could you two at least argue over me when I'm not right here?"

He had ended up between the two taller men, and had to crane his neck to look at them in the eye.

Steve coughed politely and let himself be led away by Peter towards the supermarket, leaving Tony standing uselessly.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

Steve had initially thought that being alone with Peter would be a little awkward, but he realized pretty early on that no conversation could be uninteresting when Peter Parker was in it.

"So how did it feel when you got your powers, Steve?"

The question came out of the blue as they strolled along the path. 

"Crazy. It got pretty painful when they started to turn up the radiation, but when I got back out... Crazy."

"Dope! How did everyone react- you know, when you came out and..." Peter gestured to his own biceps to indicate Cap’s change in physique.

"I think they were a bit disturbed at first."

"Why?"

"Well, I was barely 5 foot 4 before, and then I grew to 6 foot 2 in a minute."

Blowing out an impressed breath, Peter conceded: "I guess." 

"What about you, then? I heard it was a- a radioactive spider bite?

Huddled on the bathroom floor. Throwing up. Shaking.

Peter gulped. "Yeah, pretty-pretty much. That was... that was crazy, too." He was stammering. Damnit.

"Wasn't pleasant, I guess?" Steve's tone was frank but unconcerned. Peter felt oddly comforted.

"You could say that. A lot of... puking."

"Well, I bet you're glad you got your spider powers out of it, then."

The thought hadn't occurred to Peter. "Yeah. It's great."

Steve continued. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk after sparring because- you know, but I wanted to say I'm really impressed."

Peter stopped. "With what?"

"With you, buddy. You've definitely improved since Germany. You are one fast guy, I gotta say. I think once you're ready, you’ll be a real asset to the team."

Peter's face shone as he looked up at Steve, a bashful hand on the back of his neck. "Really?"

"Yeah. I reckon you're the only person faster than me on the ground I've ever met."

"Wanna bet?" said Peter mischievously.

"It's on, kiddo." Steve clapped Peter hard on the back, intentionally causing him to stumble forward just a little.

"I'll call," Peter announced. "Three... Two... One..."

And the two men were off, raising dust from the path as they zipped past.

Steve's run was determined, strategic; he pumped his arms and tilted his head down in determination as he sped along the path.

Peter, on the other hand, took the opportunity to skip around and get leverage from tree trunks and branches, running nimbly and lightly.

It was a strange feeling, Steve realized, to have someone else be faster than him. Peter was having no difficulty keeping a wide berth between them, despite Steve's best efforts. He knew Peter wasn't trying to spite him, but he felt just a tiny bit threatened by this teenager whose powers considerably outweighed his.

Eventually, when Peter noticed how far Steve was behind him, he slowed down, only slightly out of breath. He was exhilarated; did he really just beat Captain America in a race?

At first Peter thought Steve was just letting him win to be polite.

But when Cap jogged across the impromptu 'finish line' Peter had marked out with the toe of his sneaker, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead and pink in the face, Peter knew it was true: he was faster than Captain America.

Steve looked stunned. "Wow. I knew you were fast but that... that was something, Pete."

Peter glowed.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Tony," said Nat, jerking the man out of his stupor.

"What is it, dear?" he called jokingly as he stretched.

Natasha came around the corner of the campervan. In her hand was Tony's secret gauntlet, the one he'd stashed somewhere he could barely even remember now.

The one that broke the no-tech rule.

She only said one word. "Why?"

Tony felt his blood run cold as all the problems he'd tried so hard to keep under wraps, to ignore, bursting at the seams.

He dropped his head into his hands, feeling his jaw tighten and the now-familiar ache in his left arm return.

"I think everyone'd better be here for this," he said, his voice low, careful.

Within a minute, Bucky, Clint, and Bruce had joined Nat.

Tony took a deep breath and began, sitting up straighter.

"I think all of you, to an extent, have been aware that something... big is coming. Bigger than anything we've ever faced before.

"Thanos. We don't really know anything about him, don't know when he'll strike, but I'm warning you all now that it could be at any time. And when he does... the fate of the universe will be in our hands."

Shifting his gaze to the heroes assembled around him, Tony only saw confirmation of long-founded fears.

"The reason why that gauntlet came with us on the trip is..." his breath hitched for a second. He was baring an ugly part of himself to his teammates. But like he'd told Peter, they had each other’s' backs.

"Is that I didn't want to let my guard down for a second. What if Thanos had arrived on Earth last night, say, and we'd been helpless against him. We would have had to watch as we let the entire universe down.

"I know one gauntlet is useless against him. But I had to- I had to try." He wanted to kick himself for sounding so pathetic at a time when the team needed him to be strong.

"I had to try and protect you guys, and everyone else I could. And Peter."

Tony watched as it dawned on all of the Avengers simultaneously that if the kid had any say in the matter, he would end up getting himself dragged into the fray.

"I will say one thing. The kid stays out of this. We know Thanos is coming, and when he does come, we make sure Peter isn't involved, no matter what he says. Can you all promise me that?" 

All of them nodded fiercely. They all loved the kid; Tony could see. How could anyone not love him?

Deep down, Tony knew that Peter would find some way to get involved in the battle against Thanos. But as long as he lived, he would keep that kid alive. 

"I'm not guaranteeing that all or any of us will get out of the fight alive and well. I'm just warning you. Be ready. Because the time will come. And when it does- devastation will follow in its wake."

"We can beat this guy, Thanos, though?" Bruce interjected warily. "We'll win?"

Tony didn't respond for a while. Then he looked up at Bruce, the depth of anguish in his eyes startling.

"I don't know."

\----------------------------------------------------

As they strolled back to the campervan, Peter and Steve's conversation turned to more serious topics.

"Where did all your Spider-Man stuff come from after you got your powers? You know, going out on patrol, stopping crime, all of that?" asked Steve, turning his head inquisitively towards Peter, who shrugged.

"I don't- I guess I just kinda lived with my powers and didn't do much about them for a while. But then my uncle Ben... one night, he got killed."

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Peter found he had Steve's full attention. Cap was looking at him with the gently furrowed brow and open mouth of someone who empathized with what they were hearing.

Peter continued, swinging the shopping bags as he spoke. "I made a mistake. It was a robber who killed Ben... a robber I'd seen before, I'd had the chance to stop before...

"That was the event which, well, jolted me into reality for the first time. Ben had said to me, "with great power comes great responsibility," and I'd never really understood the magnitude of that until I saw him bleeding out on the street.

"He was trying to tell me that I could use these abilities to help make the world- or, you know, Queens, at least- a better place. And after he died, I had to, you know? To preserve his memory or whatever. But also to try and save everyone."

'Save everyone.'

Steve felt like punching something. All this kid wanted to do was save other people, whether he knew them or not, and he wouldn't stop until there was no-one left to be saved. That much was evident from the resolute look in his eyes.

When Steve had first met Peter, he had been fooled by the front he put up of enthusiasm, humour, and over-talkativeness. Now, he could see Peter stripped to the bone in front of him, and what was left was a true hero, but also a 15-year old kid who was scared of what the future might hold.

"Well, son, may I say that you've done pretty damn well in achieving that," Steve said instead, nodding at him to enforce his point. "You're already part way to joining the Avengers. You've done so much at a young age. You're truly an inspiration to me."

"To you?" Peter couldn't help but blurt it out. He just couldn't believe that he was really an 'inspiration' to Cap. That was going too far. 

No.

Steve seemed bewildered by his outburst. He locked eye contact with Peter as they walked. "Yes."

Peter blundered. "Uh, I'm sorry, I just can't be- really?" His eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. Damn it.

He ducked his head down sharply in an attempt to hide the tears from Steve, but he could tell the older man had picked up on them, because he murmured, "You okay?"

"Yeah," huffed Peter quietly. "It's just- really cool that Captain America thinks I'm an inspiration, but so wrong because it's definitely the other way around-"

"Peter," Steve interrupted. "I have the right to freedom of opinion, right?

Mutely, Peter nodded.

"And you are an inspiration to me. None of the Avengers were doing what they do now as early as you. When I was a kid in Brooklyn, I just hung around the streets, causing trouble with Bucky. You already have the strongest moral argument I've ever seen in a guy, let alone a kid, and you've already done so much to get rid of hate in this world. You're a symbol of hope, just like the rest of us. And you're only 15. Now that is something to be proud of."

The tears Peter had been struggling to rein in came flooding out in a burst; he let out a strained sob.

Steve dropped his bags and went over to pull Peter instinctively into a fierce hug.

The strength of Steve's embrace caused Peter to choke slightly; Steve whispered, "Oh, sorry, Pete."

Peter sniffed softly. "Thanks, Steve." He looked up admiringly at Steve, and slowly looped his arms around his lower chest, returning the hug.

Having been validated by Cap himself, Peter felt pretty good about himself. 

About time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys I'm sorry to say this'll be the last chapter for a little while. I'm unable to post until next Saturday so I've tried to get as many out before then as possible. This fic DOES NOT END HERE, however! I have the next chapter ready to release as soon as I'm able to, and regular updates WILL RESUME after that, I promise! Thanks for sticking with me through this and sorry for inconveniencing you all! Have a great week! I will probably not be replying to comments during that time but feel free to leave them anyway!  
> I've kind of worked the threat of Thanos into this fic now. It probably won't end up making a lot of chronological sense in terms of where the characters are in Infinity War but oh well it's my story   
> The threat of Thanos also may or may not be connected to the final climax...


	6. Day 3: Evening - Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What about MJ?" Steve questioned conversationally.  
> "What about her?" returned Peter, seemingly nonchalantly; however, the reddening hue of his face attested to a different emotion.  
> "You asked her out or anything?"  
> Peter paused at this as if wondering how to phrase what he would say next. His free hand picked at a callus on the inside of his finger. "Well- not exactly... it's- it's kind of complicated."  
> "How so?" Steve's tone was intrigued, not interrogative. He leaned against the kitchen counter.  
> "I'm..." Peter gathered up his courage.  
> "I like boys and girls. I'm bisexual."

Tony stayed out late that night, joking around with the other Avengers and a shared bag of Doritos. Surprisingly, the kid opted out, retiring to the campervan early on.

It was stupid, but Tony found it hard to enjoy himself as much when he was even the slightest bit concerned about the kid's wellbeing. The smooth voice of Marvin Gaye (chosen by Steve) which played in the background did help to ease the slight hitch in his chest.

Was this what it would be like now he had admitted to himself how much he cared for Peter, this constant throb in his sternum falsely warning him of danger?

Maybe this was what it was like to have Spider-Sense or something.

Steve was the next to leave the party, clapping Clint and Nat on the shoulder as he straightened up and wandered over to the dimly lit campervan.

Lit? That was odd. Maybe the kid liked to go to sleep with the lights on.

Tony sighed and resolutely stuck out the evening outside to prove to himself that Peter was fine, just tired, as was he, from the gruelling day of lip-sync battles and other various shenanigans.

He was going to need a crap ton of coffee the next morning.

\--------------------------------------------------

As Steve ducked his head to avoid hitting it on the doorway to the ridiculously huge campervan, he saw Peter sitting on his bunk, pyjama-clad legs curled up under him, his grinning face illuminated by blue light.

Evidently, the reason for his laughter had come from the cracked and smeared tablet he cradled in the crook of his arm. In his other hand was a mug of messily made hot chocolate. 

He was oblivious to Steve's presence as the soldier placed his hands on his heads and shook his head, a defeated smile on his face.

The tinny voices drifting out of the tablet's speaker were accompanied by the smiling faces of two other teenagers.

"Well, I hope you're having a chummy time cozying up to the Avengers, Parker." It was a girl, her one-sided frizzy bangs falling across her eyes. She had a wicked grin on her face.

"It's not like that, MJ! They're all so great. You'd be jealous," Peter teased.

MJ. Huh.

"I still can't believe you got to meet Hawkeye, and Black Widow and the Hulk and the Winter Soldier-"

Peter winced slightly. "Ned, you shouldn't really call him that anymore-"

Ned continued, oblivious: "and Iron Man, obviously, even though you already know him a bit, oh and especially Captain America!"

"I know right!" was Peter's enthusiastic reply. "I think he's still a bit wary around Tony and stuff, but Steve's actually a really nice guy."

That elicited a bashful smile from Cap.

"Guess what though?"

MJ looked amused. "What?"

"I finally answered our question- who's faster, Captain America or Spider-Man- I raced him, and I won!" Peter's delight was written all over his face. Steve hadn't ever seen him this relaxed.

Although Ned's face was fuzzy on the screen, Steve could clearly see his jaw drop from over Peter's shoulder. "No. Way. You beat him? Virtual high-five, dude!"

MJ rolled her eyes. "You nerds."

"And what's that you're reading, Michelle?" Peter's tone was sassy as he made as if to peer at the book MJ was reading as she chatted. "Is that- Dr. Banner's third paper on thermo-nuclear physics? Huh." Peter tutted gently, settling back in a superior manner onto his pillows.

MJ shook her head, her deadpan exterior shifting for just a moment at Peter's retort and revealing a bright smile.

"Alright, I'd better go now, it's way past my bedtime and my mom's gonna kill me," said Ned.

"Me too," agreed MJ.

"Bye, Peter!" they both chorused, drawing an amused grin from the boy, who made a small waving motion as he waited for his friends to hang up.

Steve realized he had been essentially spying on the kid's social life, and decided to make his presence known.

"Kiddo," said Steve.

Steve hadn't thought his voice would scare Peter as much as it did- he did a strange full-body flinch, dropping the tablet which fell bouncing onto the bunk and sloshing hot chocolate over his hand and pyjamas. He stared up at Steve, floundering, his jaw hanging and his pupils contracting into pinpoints, and paused for a second.

Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to click back into reality and stood up hurriedly, his face reddening, setting aside the mug, stuttering, "Oh, hey Steve, this isn't what it looks li- screw that, it's exactly what it looks like but-but I didn't want to say anything because I... I thought it might be okay to video call them because, you know, Cl-clint called his family and..."

"Hey, don't freak out, Peter. It's fine." Steve offered a small smile, running a hand through his honey-blonde hair apologetically.

"Really?" Peter's pupils remained small spots in his puppy-like brown eyes; the line of his mouth was thin as he searched in Steve's eyes for validation.

Steve laid a reassuring hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Yeah. You're away from your friends and family, it's fine to keep in contact." He grimaced. "Sorry for making you spill your drink."

"Don't worry about it." Peter's voice was relieved. "So, how much of that did you hear?"

"All I'll say is- thanks for giving me a good rep, I guess," Steve said, chuckling softly.

Peter groaned and faceplanted. "I'm such a dork," he muttered.

"Well, sounds like you've got some pretty great friends."

"Yeah, they're awesome." Peter lifted his face with a shy little grin, his tongue peeping out from between his lips to lick them nervously.

"What about MJ?" Steve questioned conversationally, aware that it was a little weird to be asking the kid about his love life but going for it anyway.

"What about her?" returned Peter, seemingly nonchalantly; however, the reddening hue of his face attested to a different emotion. Having sponged off his pyjamas and washed his hands, he picked up his mug again, swilling the dark liquid around inside.

"You asked her out or anything?"

Peter paused at this as if wondering how to phrase what he would say next. His free hand picked at a callus on the inside of his finger. "Well- not exactly... it's- it's kind of complicated."

"How so?" Steve's tone was intrigued, not interrogative. He leaned against the kitchen counter.

"I'm..." Peter gathered up his courage. "I like boys and girls. I'm bisexual." It came out in a rush.

Steve's eyebrows flew up in disbelief.

"You do know what that means, don't you, Steve?" inquired Peter quietly.

Steve nodded an affirmative. He wasn't disapproving of the kid, not in the least, he just hadn't expected that.

Peter obviously wasn't aware of that and his jaw locked.

"And you're okay with it?"

"Oh yeah, it's cool." Steve would not be one to judge. "Actually, you're not alone here."

He didn't know why he had said it. Something about Peter's well-meaning anxiety made him feel like he could trust the teen.

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

Steve blurted it out uncharacteristically: "Bucky and I are dating." His hand slipped from where he had braced it against the counter, and he stumbled a little, feeling suddenly threatened.

Peter, however, did not seem surprised. "Yeah, I figured." He shrugged; a small gesture.

"You 'figured'?" Steve all but spluttered. He had been sure the secret of his and Bucky's relationship would be safe until they felt it right to tell the other Avengers, but the incident where Buck had fallen asleep on him... he guessed that could have been a giveaway.

Plus, the kid was so aware of those around him and so bright, he should have expected that he'd figure it out.

"Yeah, I gotta say it was kinda obvious, Steve."

"Better tell the others before they all figure it out on their own, then."

"It probably sounds weird, but- I think you're cute. As a couple."

Steve blushed, scuffing his feet across the floor. "Uh... thanks.

"You gonna ask out the other kid, then? Ned?"

"Uh, I- I dunno, like I said, it's really complicated."

"Alright, kid." Steve gave Peter's arm a gentle squeeze. "You told anyone else about it yet?"

"About being bi? No, not yet. Well, Ned and MJ, but no-one else."

"You gonna tell Tony or anyone?"

"I dunno." 

"Okay, I won't tell anyone else then. Not until you're ready. But I know the Avengers, they'll be accepting, so don't worry about coming out to them." He gave Peter a reassuring smile, then turned away to start getting ready for bed.

Peter's voice was grateful, relieved even. "Thank you, Steve."

"Any time."

\----------------------------------------------------

"He said not to tell you, but... I'm concerned for his safety."

Bucky sat forward in his chair as he conferred with Tony, his voice low.

"Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night because I heard a shout. It was Peter. He'd obviously just had a nightmare or something, he looked awful. He'd hit his head again waking up, so he was pretty spaced out."

That place in Tony's chest that had become prone to aches was contracting again, violently this time, as he listened to Bucky.

"I got him down from the bunk and we went outside. He had a full-blown panic attack, Tony; it took at least 20 minutes to get his breathing back to normal."

Tony's vision was blurring now, just like it had when he'd seen Peter fall from the tree.

"Then we talked for a bit, and I noticed he was digging into his leg really hard- you know, with his nails. When I told him to stop, he... just froze like a rabbit in headlights."

Bucky paused, just for two seconds, but enough to freak Tony out. 

The information was so much worse than the wait.

"He's been cutting himself. A razor, I think. You'd think his healing factor would get rid of the scars, but I guess he'd been hurting himself so often they'd stopped closing up so well. 

"It was awful. Just a mass of scars. Some of them looked less than a week old."

There was no longer any air- either that or Tony's lungs had stopped working.

He'd thought... he'd thought he could protect the kid by shielding him from outside threats, but he'd never considered the option that it was the inside problems that were hurting him.

He'd been stupid. He'd been stupid. He was so stupid. He couldn't protect this kid. He couldn't save anyone.

He bit back a yell.

Bucky looked deeply pained. "I tried to tell him that he should have said something before it got this bad, that there were tons of people looking out for him, but he wasn't convinced. He really didn't think anyone cared. Then he just said he was sorry, I asked him what for, he said 'for stressing you out' and then he tried to leave and got another severe panic attack."

Tony hadn't realized his eyes had been squeezed shut. His entire body felt like a coiled spring, tense, full of anger which he would never be able to take out on a specific person.

Anger at how the world had treated Peter Parker. Anger at himself, for not realizing, for disassociating himself from this kid who was hurting, who needed him to be there, really there, who needed someone he could trust enough to tell.

Burning rage, hotter than pain, white-hot, searing the edges of his vision.

"I can't go to him, can I?" It was forced out between gritted teeth and quickening breaths. "He doesn't know that I know."

Bucky nodded. "Anyway, he seemed pretty happy today. He loves being with you, Tony."

"Well, obviously not enough to confide in me about- anything." 

Bucky sighed, long-suffering, sad. "I think he was just ashamed of himself for doing it. Thought it made him disgusting, pathetic." The soldier scrubbed his face with a palm.

Tony got that. He got that. But his breath hitched in his throat at the thought of the kid, who was so brave, so self-sacrificial, so honest, true, kind, eager, strong, intelligent, resourceful, generous, sweet- would consider himself disgusting or pathetic.

"What can we do about it?" asked Tony in a low, dangerous voice, looking up at Barnes with raw pain in his eyes.

"Nothing, yet. I think we gotta wait until he's ready to tell you. I'll keep checking up just to make sure it isn't getting worse."

Could it get any worse than this?

Bucky had never seen Tony cry. He'd seen him panic, yell, get mad. 

But the tears that now dropped from Tony's eyes were not something he'd before associated with the billionaire.

"My kid," whispered Tony. The hot water filling his eyes was foreign to him, but he let the tears fall. He felt useless.

Stupid.

Stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back guys!!!  
> Sorry for the wait- to those who haven't given up on me, thank you!  
> This chapter is kinda short and angsty, sorry about that /: but I just needed to churn out some content to keep business going ya know? I promise a pretty lengthy 7th chapter with lots of humor and fluff to bless you all!  
> Thank you for staying faithful my lovelies! Have an amazing day! xxx


	7. Day 4: Morning - A Shit in a Diamond Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was speechless. “I- Mr. Stark, I- This is- this is- what? Do we- I mean, how-how is- I can’t d- do- uh- go to this-this, I mean-“  
> Tony knew it would take some convincing for the kid to let him take him out.  
> “You’re okay with crab meat, right? Because if you don’t like it, we can find somewhere better.” Tony quirked an eyebrow.  
> It was kind of funny to see him squirm.  
> “Seriously, Tony, you didn’t have to do this,” interjected Bruce, glasses in one hand, forehead wrinkled in disbelief.  
> Peter nodded hard, the line of his mouth thin.  
> “Come on guys, only the best for us Avengers! You guys can experience what it’s like to have real taste.”
> 
> Steve, as a rule, disliked anything that Tony liked, but he had to say this was incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the long, fluffy chapter I promised - enjoy it because it's gonna get angsty from here on out!  
> I wasn't originally planning on Stucky stuff but BOOM it kinda just happened?

Peter, who had been soundly asleep for once in his life, was jerked back into the land of the living by a hand on his shoulder.

It was a surprisingly soft gesture, but his spider senses were still triggered by the seemingly foreign touch, and he shot up in his bed.

Tony started back in surprise as the kid jolted up, eyes small and bleary but pupils blown wide in confusion and hair mussed from sleep. He seemed to clock Tony's face after a second or two and mumbled incoherently: "Mhat tlm es th?"

Somehow, Tony got what he was trying to say. "I know, kid, it's only 6 in the morning, but we're gonna go explore today, there're a few little towns we can go around. Thought we could stretch our legs, do some tourism. Sound okay?"

Peter nodded, eyes closing.

"Hey," said Tony, poking him softly on his cheek. "No going back to sleep. Everyone else is getting ready."

"Sure," whispered Peter, cracking a lopsided smile.

Tony left him to get changed, making sure to keep a smile plastered on around the kid but letting it fall as soon as he left his presence.

For once in his life, Tony had no idea what to do about something.

He guessed the least he could do was make sure the kid had a great time on this trip. If he couldn't actually talk to Peter, he would make him happy whenever he had a say in the matter.

Keep him alive and happy.

Tony had thought he could do that, but evidently not.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The team had tried their best to look as inconspicuous as possible.

It would have been obvious if they had all worn low-brimmed hats and sunglasses and walked around as a group, so they tried to be tactical about hiding their presence from the world.

Clint and Bruce swapped clothes (which didn't actually make much of a difference, contrary to their protestations of "I would never wear this in real life!"); Steve and Bucky wore lots of layers to cover up their muscles, a point of... interest to many civilians; Natasha borrowed one of Tony's Black Sabbath shirts and paired it with unassuming track pants; Tony conceded to wear knee-length khaki shorts that made him look like a soccer dad and a cap with a huge brim, even ditching his trademark tinted sunglasses in the name of subtlety. 

Peter would not be recognizable by his clothes sense, but Tony gave him a pair of red-tinted sunglasses and he also wore a cap. Tony said it was a precautionary measure; even if someone spotted the other Avengers, they wouldn't be able to recognize him.

He would deny it at Clint's arrow-point, but Peter was thrilled at being able to wear Tony's sunglasses.

And so they all clambered back into the campervan, Natasha in the driver's seat, and played the new playlist Peter had put together of the team's favorite songs from yesterday. 

Surprisingly, Steve was the one to take to the stage for lip-syncing that day, busting an embarrassingly uncool move to "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder and triggering waves of matching faceplants from Clint, Tony, and Peter. Bruce and Bucky, however, seemed to enjoy his performance, bopping and clapping along.

It was only when Bucky suggested that they do a duet that Steve lost his cool, mouth opening in surprise.

"I mean- yeah, of course... bro," Steve jested, punching Bucky on the shoulder pointedly and nodding hard. "You know, a -friendly- duet, like when Tony and Peter-"

"Alright, keep your cool, Spangles," interceded Tony, a knowing smirk on his face. "What's it gonna be, maestro?" He aimed this last question at Peter, who hadn't been given the opportunity to pick for anyone yet.

The look of panic that crossed Steve's face as Peter realized the power Tony had just intentionally given him very nearly caused Peter to cackle with laughter. 

He knew immediately what he would make them perform.

"You know Celine Dion, right? How about My Heart Will Go On? You know, as bros," said Peter mischievously, nodding in mock seriousness at the last phrase. "You can share out lines."

Tony's mouth twitched violently, the corners turning down but betraying his glee nonetheless. "An inspired choice. Go ahead." He waved his hand at Steve and Bucky, who were standing stock-still, Bucky glaring at Peter and Steve staring daggers at Bucky.

Bruce gave the pair an encouraging round of applause.

Peter looked at Tony. He could almost see the man mentally high-fiving him. He fought back a grin, legs jiggling up and down from his seat on the sofa.

Peter started the music.

The duet began awkwardly, with Steve and Bucky giving each other a wide berth and refusing to look each other in the eye. There was some point in the song, however, before the final chorus, when they caught each other's eyes and an understanding seemed to pass between them (Tony gathered it was something like "fuck it, everyone already knows") and they began to perform as a real duet.

This is... majestic, thought Peter.

Evidently, the pair had seen the film, because there was a lot of posing with Bucky at the front, arms out, prompting Peter to wave a piece of paper in his face to make his hair blow as if in the wind from the Titanic, and Steve holding his waist behind him. There was also a lot of ballroom dancing which looked authentic.

Steve had wanted to dance with Bucky for years. A lot had got in the way of their time together, and he had forgotten what it felt like to properly dance, not whatever the kids were doing nowadays, but really waltzing. With Bucky. 

He didn't really care that the other Avengers were watching. In a cheeky gesture, Bucky pulled him out and tried to spin him around, but found he couldn't reach his arm above Steve's head with his gained height. This prompted a wave of giggling from them both. 

"You're here,  
There's nothing I fear,  
And I know that my heart will go on

We'll stay forever this way,  
You are safe in my heart  
and my heart will go on and on..."

As the final, rousing note died down, Steve pressed his lips to Buckys gently. It was short, more affectionate than passionate, but he could feel Bucky's hand grip his tighter from where they had been waltzing again. In a calming gesture, Steve gave Bucky's hand a squeeze and with his other hand, which was curled around Bucky's back, pulled him closer.

They let their foreheads touch for a few seconds, then Bucky pulled away to face the Avengers around them.

Bucky began to speak: "H-"

Peter was the first to stand and applaud the couple. The other team members were quick to follow, whooping and cheering and grinning.

Disbelieving, Bucky looked up into Steve's face.

"See, it's fine Buck," he breathed, huffing out a small laugh but blinking away tears that brimmed at the corner of his eyes.

Bucky could feel similar tears spilling onto his cheeks. Embarrassed, he leaned instinctively into Steve, who took it as an opportunity for another kiss, thumbing away Bucky's tears.

The applause continued long after they had sat down again, gently clasping each other's hands.

"How long has that been going on for?" asked Bruce in disbelief, a bemused smile pulling at his lips.

Bucky mumbled, "couple months."

"Or a hundred years if you count all the pining," added Steve, nudging Bucky, who giggled nervously.

Peter piped up then, seeming to surprise even himself: "I think it's cute."

His face immediately fell as he clocked what he had just said; he turned an impressive shade of beetroot.

"Thanks," replied Bucky, bemused but smiling.

Peter let out a small smile to match Buckys.

The last of the ice finally thawed in Bucky's heart. The Avengers accepted him completely. He had them.

And he had Steve, till the end of the line.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Tony had been expecting the town they were visiting that day to be kind of poky and empty.

Boy, was he mistaken.

Clearly, between the time Tony's map was made and the day they arrived in the town, the place had become some sort of Pennsylvania tourist attraction. Nobody could figure out why.

But it helped the Avengers feel at home, to an extent: there was enough merchandise around to rival the streets of New York.

Tony bought everyone "I HEART PENN" t-shirts from a stall manned by kids the other Avengers thought looked as young as Peter ("Nah, they must be at least 12th grade," said Peter, gulping). Peter couldn't resist the opportunity to take a picture of the team walking in a line with their garish t-shirts on, parodying themselves as the Avengers. And a group selfie.

He'd have to show that to Ned and MJ later on.

The town was lined with an array of shops, including huge chain stores like McDonald's (Clint dragged everyone else in for chicken nuggets and McFlurries) and some interesting little independent places. Peter took it upon himself to "introduce" the others to thrift shopping.

The other Avengers had all heard of the concept, but with their pay grade, they could afford to get whatever clothes they wanted. 

Peter was an expert. It was a skill, in his opinion, and he was a master.

Tony took it as the perfect opportunity to humor the team by unearthing the most ghastly garments and accessories he could find and gifting them to his teammates.

He found a ratty tutu in an appealing shade of pink and just knew Steve would love it. A sparkly Rapunzel hairclip collecting dirt on the floor brought to mind Bucky's own luscious locks. Catching a glimpse of a fluorescent orange boiler suit shoved between rails, he knew it would look so flattering on Nat. A tattered and washed-out muscle suit would be a great confidence booster for Bruce, he was sure. He nearly upended a stand trying to pull a strap-on velcro dartboard out from under it for Clint and his family to enjoy.

And for Peter, a full Iron Man onesie. It was actually a nice onesie, and he was pretty sure Peter had been eyeing it up anyway. 

When he saw the thing in Tony's arms, Peter blushed deeply and said, "Mr. Stark, I can't accept that..."

The kid's impeccable manners kicking in again. Everyone knew Tony Stark was a billionaire, it was no trouble to him to buy a damn onesie.

"Kid, it's fine," he replied. "Come on. It's a joke. You should be glad I didn't save the tutu for you..."

"Okay it's fine I love it!" Peter rushed, grabbing the garment from him.

Tony went straight for the question he'd been wondering about for ages. "I'm your favorite superhero, right?"

He was surprised- and a fair amount embarrassed- that he was so insecure about the question.

Peter stammered.

Tony, deciding to use his influence, replied with, "How dare you, Parker?"

Peter had the grace to look apologetic then, twisting his hands. "No, you're great- Iron Man is great- but Bruce... and Thor..."

"After all I've done for you: taking you under my wing, upgrading your suit, inviting you to join the freaking Avengers- and this is how you repay me?”

Peter seemed to take Tony’s words a little too seriously. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I didn’t realise it was like that! I never meant to cause any trouble, I can-“

“Kid.” Tony was exasperated, but his voice was kind. “It’s all good. I forgive you.

“If you repeat after me: “Iron Man is, without doubt, my favorite superhero.”

Without a word, Peter ducked away from Tony, still clasping the Iron Man onesie, and dashed out of the shop, leaving Tony to chase after him, screaming threats after the kid as he clutched the incongruous pieces of shit he had bought. Peter stayed far ahead of him with ease, purposefully skipping and strolling around to prove how physically superior he was to Tony.

Tony could hear Peter’s laugh from up ahead, a real, relaxed laugh, different than the nervous giggles he had begun to associate with the teen.

Alive: check. Happy: check?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter had never seen, let alone set foot in, such an intimidatingly fancy restaurant in his life.

The ‘Etoile de Savale’ was a restaurant Tony had never heard of, but it certainly met his standards, with a decent-looking 14-course meal and seats that looked like no-one had ever thrown up on them.

380 dollars a head, of course.

Peter was speechless. “I- Mr. Stark, I- This is- this is- what? Do we- I mean, how-how is- I can’t d- do- uh- go to this-this, I mean-“

Tony knew it would take some convincing for the kid to let him take him out.

“You’re okay with crab meat, right? Because if you don’t like it, we can find somewhere else with better food.” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

It was kind of funny to see him squirm.

“Seriously, Tony, you didn’t have to do this,” interjected Bruce, who was perusing the menu intensely, glasses in one hand, forehead wrinkled in disbelief.

Peter nodded hard, the line of his mouth thin.

“Come on guys, only the best for us Avengers! I let you guys drag me into that hellhole McDonald’s and now you guys can experience what it’s like to have real taste.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve, as a rule, disliked anything that Tony liked, but he had to say this restaurant was incredible.

He also felt slight panic every time Peter got too close to any of the exquisite glass sculptures with his sturdy and ratty Doc Martens.

It was clear which of the Avengers had dined in a place like this before. 

Natasha and Tony were perfectly at home, chatting charmingly to one another at just the right volume to be heard above the live cello music and the trickling fountain in the corner without disturbing the ambiance.

Steve and Bucky were no strangers to fancy dinners, despite never having experienced this level of luxury, and knew which forks to use for each course. They kept close together, however, tracing patterns into each other’s arms when they became nervous.

Bruce kept taking his glasses off to polish them, laying them on the table, fiddling with them in his hand, pushing them up onto his forehead, and putting them on again. 

He’d been to places he deemed ‘fancy’ but none like this. As in, the plates actually had those silver domes on top from the movies and they took them off with a flourish to reveal a plate so fragile Bruce was afraid he’d smash it as himself, never mind the Hulk.

Not exactly restful.

Clint was used to meals being loud, messy family affairs, often including chicken nuggets or baked beans to satisfy the younger kids. The tiny rolls of sushi and fish, adorned with translucent slivers of exotic vegetables and decorated with painfully artful splashes of sauce, were an object he had little idea what to do with. The crème brulee looked as if it had been roasted by heavenly fire. He felt kind of stupid for being so intimidated by this place.

Peter was freaking out.

It seemed that this place had been designed to give him stress. The decorative rock pile (Peter had no better word for it) in the centre of the restaurant seemed to have nothing keeping it from falling over. The marble floor was so shiny he had had to hold Tony’s arm as they went in to avoid slipping.

The waiters wore full tuxedos and swept about the room so airily Peter kept glancing at their feet to check they didn’t use some subtle repulsor tech to hover around. They had authentic-sounding French accents- all of them. Peter was sure they couldn’t all be French.

He felt as out of place with his ripped jeans, cap, tousled hair and cheesy Pennsylvania merch among the finery of the restaurant as a shit in a diamond mine.

He felt like such a child. His feet didn’t reach the floor when he sat down. The undone lace of his shoe dripped mud onto the floor, making him wince.

But throughout the entire meal, Tony was there, subtly pointing to the right cutlery to use for each course, answering the waiters for him when he didn’t know what to say, gently rubbing his thumb over Peter’s palm when his breathing quickened, including him in the conversation.

By the 9th course, Peter was beginning to feel almost… at home. With his friends surrounding him, he knew they would cover for him if he messed up.

There was a tense moment when his crystal glass suddenly slipped from his hand- how that had happened with his powers, he wasn’t sure- and would have smashed on the floor below, had his Spider-sense not kicked in and caused him to lean down and grab it again.

He looked around warily, hoping no-one had seen the accident or the superhuman speed with which he had prevented it.

Steve, seeing what had happened, chose that moment to raise his voice just slightly, shattering the serene environment nonetheless and causing anyone previously eyeing Peter to switch their attention to Cap.

“Nice save, kid,” chuckled Tony under his breath, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Peter let out a shaky breath and set the glass back down on the table. He shot Steve a grateful glance.

Despite his calm and confident exterior, Tony was nervous. Mainly of the fact that they were very on display here, and although no-one seemed to have recognized any of the team yet, you could never be too careful.

He kicked himself for it later. For putting Peter on display like that. They had been far too obvious. They should never have let their guard down.

Once they were out of the restaurant, however, they all relaxed and joked easily with one another as they strolled back towards where they had parked the campervan.

“I think they thought you were some sort of hard-core war veteran, Buck,” remarked Steve as they strolled arm-in-arm.

“I could see them trying to decide whether to be disgusted at my hair or respectful because of the arm!” Bucky replied.

“You should have worn the metal arm, it would have fitted right in with the décor,” chipped in Clint.

Nat spoke: “Imagine the horror if Bruce had Hulked out in there.” 

In a terrible French accent, Tony impersonated the waiters: “excuse me mister sir, I believe you may have a slight problem… mind the artisan rock pile, mon ami!”

The team descended into cackling.

Peter would never have known that the people he had idolized just a week ago were now his firm friends.

It was awesome.

As he walked through narrow streets bathed in the glow of the setting sun, the team on either side of him, he wanted to capture this moment and live in it forever.

He looked up at Tony, on his right, who ruffled his hair, smiling back down at him and laughing as he rushed to fix it. Tony gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

He was safe.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should have one of those notices at the end of films which go "none of these places are real we made them up so don't get offended or anything" because DAMN it took me so. long. to just think of the restaurant name!  
> This chapter is really long, but the next one is pretty short.  
> Again, thank you for the incredible support, I feel so loved y'all! Have a smashing day lovelies xxx


	8. Day 4: Evening - Don't Hurt Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a shaky but murderous voice, Peter said, "How do you know that? Have you been tracking us?"  
> "Why should I tell you?" The voice seemed almost disappointed, as if they had been expecting Peter to come up with something better.  
> Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. "What- what do you want me to do then?"  
> "Aw, I didn't mean for you to be scared, Pete." The use of the nickname made Peter shiver. It didn't occur to him at the time that the man knew his civilian identity.  
> "All I need for you to do is put your hands above your head, kneel down, and stick tight for a second."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some hardcore ANGST my babes! I'm sorry in advance.

Peter had been sure that, after the long and happy day, he would sleep through the whole night again. But he was wrong, apparently.

Faces drifted into his mind: May, MJ, Ned, Tony, Bucky... 

All gaunt, starved-looking, littered with bruises.

He could dimly hear himself- his own voice, anyway- screaming, "Don't hurt them! Don't- stop! I'll do anything! Just... take me instead! I'll take it! Not them! Please, not them..."

The dust of a warehouse, crumbled on top of him, slowly crushing the air out of his lungs- huddled on the bathroom floor, drowning in thin air- the soothing lines of red- pain blossoming behind his eyes, writhing and crying- hurting himself- spider bite- stuck under the rubble-

"Don't hurt them! Please!"

Tony, limp on the floor with a hundred bullet wounds, blood trickling from all over to form words on the floor: "YOUR FAULT".

Peter- dream-Peter, whatever- fell over, hitting his head on the wall.

And then the wall wasn't the wall but the ground- the forest floor- groggy, unable to shake himself awake- the dim sound of hyperventilating.

"Peter? Who's that, Peter?"

"That's dad."

Tony's once-lifeless body hauled itself up from the floor. Anger flashed in his eyes. "After all I've done for you..." his tone was full of hatred, disgust, even.

Peter reached out hesitantly for the man, but suddenly he wasn't there anymore; where he had touched, dust was appearing, slowly consuming Tony's body as if he was burning up like chaff.

"I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, please, Mr. Stark..." His voice. Desperate, pleading.

"YOUR FAULT." 

"I'm sorry."

And then he was awake, gasping in air, the duvet tangled around him, making him choke, sweat dripping from his trembling body, eyelids fluttering in delirium.

He gripped the rail of his bunk viciously. Real.

This was real. He was alright.

But he wasn't, really, was he?

He was going to wake the other Avengers up. Not again. they'd all had an amazing day, and he didn't want to ruin that for them.

Chucking on the green jacket, he ran out of the campervan. Exercise usually made him feel better. It wasn't often that he just ran.

He wasn't planning on running so far, but when he looked back and the campervan was a small blot on the horizon, he ground to a halt, panting from exhaustion and now-receding panic. He'd had nightmares before, but never like that...

Never that bad.

He pulled out his phone to distract himself. Candy Crush was a surprisingly calming game.

But before he could start playing, a text popped up on his notification bar. "Unknown number" it said.

"Weird," Peter muttered to himself. It was probably his phone company.

He loaded the text, and a picture of the campervan came up.

Not like the sort of picture you would take if you were trying to sell it. 

The worst thing was that he could see the little personal touches they had put on the campervan during the trip which showed the picture had only just been taken. He could see the vague outline of Natasha, asleep inside.

"What the hell?" breathed Peter. He had stopped breathing. It no longer mattered. He looked over at the campervan. No-one was there.

'Who are you and how did you get that picture?' he texted back, lightning-fast, and began to sprint back across the field, cursing himself for running so far.

He had only got a few steps towards the campervan when his phone started ringing. The same number.

There seemed to be no other option than to take the call.

"Stop right there," said the voice. The caller had a cut-glass British accent; it was said quietly but so threatening Peter automatically stopped in fear.

"Don't move a step."

"Why should I stay?" retorted Peter, with surprising confidence.

"Because you wouldn't want any harm to come to Tony, would you?" It was spoken in a childish voice, with feigned innocence. The pitch was all over the place, dipping up and down.

Peter couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips.

"Or... let's see... Bucky? The one who was so lovely when you had another little nightmare? Oh, and Steve- I loved their duet, didn't you? So romantic. Definitely wouldn't want Bruce to lose control in there... or Nat, or Clint. Huh. I think that's all. Who knows?"

In a shaky but murderous voice, Peter said, "How do you know that? Have you been tracking us?"

"Why should I tell you?" The voice seemed almost disappointed, as if they had been expecting Peter to come up with something better.

Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. "What- what do you want me to do then?"

"Aw, I didn't mean for you to be scared, Pete." The use of the nickname made Peter shiver. It didn't occur to him at the time that the man knew his civilian identity.

"All I need for you to do is put your hands above your head, kneel down, and stick tight for a second. Get it, stick?"

Peter didn't have enough courage to make some quip about the man's terrible sense of humor; a pang of horror had brought bile to his throat as he realized this man knew he was Spider-Man.

And here he was, without the suit.

"I can't put my hands up with the phone."

"Ever heard of speakerphone, dumbass?" It was snarled. He was getting impatient.

Peter dropped to his knees, arms up, for lack of a better option. He had no idea who this guy was, what was going to happen, whether he was alone or had an entire army ready to hurt the others in the campervan, but he wouldn't risk it. He wouldn't ever let the other Avengers get hurt for him.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the voice crooned.

Peter hung his head, panicking. How was this bastard watching him?

"Now just wait a second, and it'll all be alright again. you can go right back to sleep. How does that sound? I can't guarantee there won't be nightmares, though. Sorry about that." The voice was maniacal now.

"Hey, what do you mean, go to sleep? Are you-"

Peter was cut off by the dart that soundlessly embedded itself in his neck. He would have thought his resistance would prevent any sedative from getting to his system too quickly, but he was out in seconds, flopping softly onto the long grass.

A tinny laugh came from the phone, still on beside Peter's prone body. "There you go, Peter. You talk far too much, you know? Sometimes it's nice to just have someone to listen to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I told you it would only get angsty from here :)))  
> And don't worry it gets much worse :)))))))  
> The villain is kind of inspired by Moriarty from BBC Sherlock.  
> And yes the Infinity War references in his dream make no sense because the fic is set before iw but whatever XD  
> Again, thank you all for blessing me with sweet, sweet kudos, hits and comments! They really brighten my day and make me feel validated! Love you xx


	9. Day 5: Morning - Can't see, Can't move, Can't breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been expecting the boy to do something impressive, perhaps calling on some superhuman reserves of strength to at least raise an arm. He would expect that from someone as biologically advanced as Spider-Man.  
> But he had been mistaken. The boy was just that- a boy. A pathetic, useless piece of junk, like everyone else.  
> It made him sad. Was there nothing interesting in the world anymore?  
> He didn’t like to be sad.  
> Well, he’d have to do something about that then, wouldn’t he?  
> He had a whole mental list of what he wanted to do to Peter.   
> This was only the beginning.

Tony had got into the habit of checking where Peter was every morning, just to be sure. Sure of what? He didn’t know.

He wasn’t all that worried when he saw the kid’s bed was empty, though. He was often the first one up. Brushing a hand over the mattress, he frowned when he felt no warmth. 

He hoped Peter hadn’t gotten a nightmare or anything.

Everyone else was still asleep. Tony crept out of the campervan door and headed for the trees nearby, expecting to see the kid swinging from one of them like Tarzan again.

God, he was so talented.

But try as he might, Tony couldn’t make out the shape of Peter in the trees.

Still, he wasn’t concerned. 

He figured the kid had his phone with him; he was never without it. Classic Gen-Z kid.

So he strolled back into the campervan to get his own phone, walked a fair distance away from the vehicle again so as not to wake the other team members, and peered out across the horizon as he waited for Peter to pick up.

He didn’t pick up. But weirdly, Tony could dimly hear the unmistakable yodelling ringtone echoing across the field. 

Tony began striding further out into the field, searching for the source of the ringing. He nearly ended up stepping on the phone.

It was face-down, vibrating in the long grass.

Warily, Tony picked up the cracked device. Underneath it was slipped a small piece of paper, reading: 

“You won’t find him here, idiot. Good luck.”

A violent wave of nausea washed over Tony as he staggered back, pinching the note between two fingers as if it was burning him. He spun wildly around, scanning the landscape surrounding him to try and spot any threats, to spot Peter-

The unthinkable had happened. Despite all his efforts, someone had taken the kid.

The panic attack that overcame Tony then was nothing like he had felt before; it was the opposite of what he should be doing, he had to get up- wait, why was he on the floor?- he had to do something, his kid was gone, his kid was in danger-

Peter.

Somehow, Tony managed to get himself back across the threshold of the campervan, fumbling around on the wall for the light switch, gasping and trembling, stuttering, “Help- Peter- Peter- the kid’s gone, someone took him, I-“

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter was used to waking up all at once, either from a nightmare or some small sound which his spider-sense had amplified. It was actually kind of relaxing to let his heavy eyelids droop closed again after they opened and didn’t see much to look at.

The feeling of calm wasn’t… right, though. He felt cold; something hard was against his back; now he came to think of it, it was more of a hazy feeling than one of serenity.

Suddenly, he realized his eyes were open.

He was sure they were, anyway.

They must be.

But why couldn’t he see anything?

Okay, scratch that- he could see something now, a fuzzy light, some distinction between the black and the not-so-black- and the brown and the kind-of-yellow and… blue, maybe? Yeah, blue over to the left.

Why couldn’t he see?

Tendrils of panic began to grip him; he attempted to bring his hands up to his eyes but found his arms were somehow stuck. He couldn’t move an inch; his legs were similarly immobile.

He tried to bust out of whatever was stopping him from moving, but all his strength had left him; he felt as pathetic as a little kid as he tried to force himself to move, his aching muscles trembling as he pushed his body to the limit.

Nothing. He was stuck.

A booming laugh burst out of the silence, drawing an inadvertent yell from the groggy Peter.

“Oh, did I startle you? Whoops! You’re not in great shape, are you?” It was so loud, Peter was sure his eardrums had burst. He whimpered with a combination of pain and fright, trying to cringe away from the sound but finding himself unable to.

“Trust me, trying to escape like that isn’t going to work any time soon. I’ve counteracted your strength- isn’t that clever of me? - so you’re back to being a little weakling again. Feels weird, doesn’t it? Well, you’d better get used to that, because I’m afraid it’ll get just a little bit worse than that.”

And with that, Peter suddenly felt himself being dragged to his feet by the hair. As rough fingers grabbed at his scalp, he let out a yelp. The pain was so much worse than he remembered. 

He guessed that the bad guy had also found some way to get rid of his healing factor and resistance.

Now he was as vulnerable as any other guy. 

Whether that was a temporary or permanent change, he didn’t have time to figure out, because the man had fisted his hand in a section of Peter’s hair and, with a violent tug, pulled away from his head.

Peter screamed.

Hot tears sprung to his useless eyes as the man pulled out his hair. His limbs were heavy and useless; all he could do was hang limply from his grip. The man (was it a man? He couldn’t really tell) now held him in a choke hold against what may have been a wall.

The hand descended again into Peter’s curls and tore away another tuft of hair.

This time, Peter felt the hair drifting onto the floor, a few strands getting stuck in his throat as he yelled again, making him choke. He wept in anguish. He didn’t care how stupid it sounded. He was hurt and scared, so scared.

Somehow, he managed to sloppily choke out, “Why- what do you want?” His voice cracked.

It wasn’t the man holding him who spoke but the British voice again, this time so quiet he couldn’t distinguish what it had said.

“What?” he whispered.

The voice came again, but loud; so loud, too loud. “Not much, really! Just to see what the Spider-Man is like in person! You’re a really special kid, you know that, Peter?”

Peter would have spat if he could, but his utter lack of strength meant all he could do was listen to the voice, face screwed up in pain.

“It’s fascinating to see how you work. I’m pretty chuffed that I got the formula just right to weaken you, actually.

“And why would I tell you what I really want from you? Then I’d have to let you go or kill you once that was done. That’s no fun, is it? Well, let’s get on with what we’re doing, no time to waste.”

And just like that, he was thrust onto the floor, cracking his head open- again. He let out a low groan as stars burst across the dark plane of his vision.

The hands were reaching for his fingers that time. A foot planted itself on Peter’s chest, driving the air out from his lungs, and with a sudden yank at his index finger, he felt the bone pop.

When his vision had been all black, now white blossomed across the darkness as he shrieked, a primal, desperate sound. The noise left him gasping for air as the foot pressing on his chest prohibited further inhalation. 

The lack of vision heightened the horror of the torture to an extent which made Peter retch. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see-

And his hearing had been increased so much that he could hear every subtle snap as the bones of his fingers were slowly pulled out of place, one by one.

He stopped being able to react at some point. He didn’t know how long this guy had been torturing him for- it was less torturing than playing, testing the limits of his body- but all at once, the horror ended.

The man shoved him roughly away, as if he was diseased, and left him on the floor (was it even the floor? He had no idea any more). He heard a heavy, metallic clang, then blissful silence.

He hiccupped noisily, throat thick and sore with tears and cries of pain. It was over. He tried to console himself. It was over for now. He could sleep.

“Not so fast!” The incongruously cheery voice boomed out again.

And then…

Peter liked music. He loved Imagine Dragons and stuff. Tony’s music was the best.

But this music would come to haunt him for the rest of his life.

It was the playlist he had made of all the Avenger’s favorite songs, but… different. Warped, twisted horribly, the bass ramped up so that Peter could feel the floor vibrating rapidly with the unsteady beat. 

And over the music, the voices of all the Avengers. Stuff they had said- on the road trip. Warped again, so laughs were screams of malice and he could barely tell who was saying it.

They were twisting the memories of the trip into something monstrous. 

Peter didn’t even think about how they got hold of all the audio clips. He was cringing away from the noise, but it seemed to come at him from all angles. Unable to get his hands up to his ears, he wailed in distress and frustration. His eyes were screwed up, although it made little difference to his vision.

On and on and on, for what felt like years, like his entire life.

He didn’t sleep. Whenever he was sure he would black out, someone came and dumped freezing water on him.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The British man watched the footage with grim satisfaction. The boy was crumpled crookedly on the floor, bare, pale toes curling and uncurling repeatedly and broken fingers twitching to match the contortion on his face as they played the sounds over and over. 

He caught sight of a sparse patch of hair on the boy’s head.

“Has it finished analysing the hair sample yet?”

“No, sir. It’ll be soon, though.”

“Wonderful.”

He watched the child’s pitiful attempts at movement. The shaking was involuntary, of course, from the shock, sleep deprivation, and the water. That’d do it. 

He had been expecting the boy to do something impressive, perhaps calling on some superhuman reserves of strength to at least raise an arm. He would expect that from someone as biologically advanced as Spider-Man.

But he had been mistaken. The boy was just that- a boy. A pathetic, useless piece of junk, like everyone else.

It made him sad. Was there nothing interesting in the world anymore?

He didn’t like to be sad.

Well, he’d have to do something about that then, wouldn’t he?

He had a whole mental list of what he wanted to do to Peter. 

This was only the beginning.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Tony, talk to me. What is it?”

It was Bruce, speaking softly but firmly to him, pulling him out of the haze of panic.

His hand curled viciously around the nearest object. He had no idea what it was, until it broke in his hand.

“Damn it.” His face fell into his hands.

“Tony. Is this important? I feel like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Tony nearly laughed. Yes, this was important. Just a little.

It was so hard for him to force it out. “They’ve got Peter,” he managed to gasp.

Bucky instantly whipped around from where he’d been standing, politely avoiding looking at Tony. “What?”

“They’ve got- I don’t know, someone- got Peter, they left his phone and a- and a note.” He managed to uncurl his other fist, revealing the crumpled slip of paper.

“Huh. It’s printed,” said Natasha, effortlessly keeping her cool despite her fighting stance. She took the paper and went over to the kitchen.

“What’s it say?” asked Clint.

“’You won’t find him here, idiot. Good luck.’ This was with his phone?”

“Uh-huh,” breathed Tony.

“Oh, shit,” said Steve, having just realised that they were all without weapons of any kind.

Tony was too far gone to crack a ‘language’ joke. “Exactly. We’ve got nothing- no AI, no tracking devices, no suits, no weapons, no fucking tech of any kind and this is exactly what I thought would happen.”

His voice had risen to a choked yell. He didn’t care.

Fuck. Peter.

He knuckled his eyes fiercely.

“Well, we can find out what printer the note came from, and we can maybe trace the people who took him,” countered Natasha, who was already setting up a makeshift chromatography stand on the kitchen counter, her hands only shaking slightly.

Tony thanked God for Nat then.

“Yeah, we can.” He picked up Peter’s phone, which was password-protected.

“We don’t know his password.”

“Come on, Tony, you hacked SHIELD once, sure you can hack into a teenager’s phone.”

He hadn’t expected the password to be that obvious.

Not literally AvengersRoadTrip.

Whatever.

He was in, and sure enough, in the list of recent calls was an unknown number.

Without thinking, he had pressed the number and started a call.

“Uh… should you have done that?” ventured Bruce warily.

“Done what?” asked Steve.

“Called the guy.”

Tony was shaking with rage. He didn’t hear anything except the incessant ringtone.

Someone picked up. He was ready.

“What have you done with my kid, you son of a bitch?” he snarled.

The voice that replied to him was British. “Oh, Tony! I was wondering when you’d finally get yourself together again.”

That stopped him. How did he know- “I’m not gonna play any games, okay. What do you want with him?”

“Huh, that’s funny. He asked the exact same thing.” The tone was falsely bright, fake.

And then came an audio clip: short, but Tony would recognize Peter’s voice in a heartbeat.

“Why- what do you want?”

The kid’s voice was firm- as firm as he could have been while choking on something- but wavered and cracked at the end. His throat sounded shredded.

Tony’s hands were trembling.

“Oh, was that a bit much? Sorry. He’s shaking too, right now. I can see him. Want to say hello?”

So they had eyes on both Peter and Tony.

Holding the phone at arm’s length for a second, he covered his mouth as if to cough and whispered, “They’re watching us.”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

He put the phone back to his ear… and he could hear Peter. 

His breaths were harsh and short; he groaned softly in pain.

Then came the sound of rushing water, and the kid started choking, hiccupping. Tony guessed they had just chucked water on him; by his audible shivering, Tony guessed it was ice-cold.

Faintly, Peter started muttering: “Can’t see, can’t move, can’t breathe- the music, the noise…”

Tony never thought he’d be in a place where he’d prefer to be in Afghanistan.

He was wrong.

Most people see red, right? When they’re really mad and scared?

Tony couldn’t see. He saw only the darkness of the cave in Afghanistan, the darkness Peter must be experiencing right now. ‘Can’t see…’

“Peter? Kid?” Tony knew it was probably useless to try and respond, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Tony?” it was choked out wetly.

“Kid! What happened?”

Then came a sound Tony had dreaded hearing at any point in his life, but not- not now. Not like this.

A scream of pain.

Peter was begging them to stop. “No, please, do-don’t, just tell me what you want, just- please…”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Tony. That’s what happens when you ask the wrong questions. Try not to overstep the line.” That British guy again. He sounded like a psychopath if Tony had ever heard one.

“The line? Where’s the fucking line in torture?”

“Who knows where the line is? That’s the fun, Tony.”

Peter screamed again, his breaths catching violently as he yelled. That sounded like a couple broken ribs, along with whatever they were doing to him right now.

“Look, if you want money, I’ll give it to you. You want me? I’ll hand myself over.”

He heard Peter, in the distance, saying, “No- Mr. Stark-“

“Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

The British voice returned, sing-song: “That’s not true, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what I want is Peter. And I’ve got him now, and you can’t do anything about it. The big, brave Tony Stark, useless. Feels… annoying, doesn’t it?

“So I’m taking a weight off your shoulders, really. I’ve already got Spider-Man, so you won’t have to hand him over yourselves.”

How did they know he was Spider-Man?

“He was very eager to go with us, actually. All it took was some pictures.”

Tony didn’t care what the pictures were of. He cared about Peter.

“You tell me where he is right now.” 

“What’ya gonna do?” It was punctuated by a high-pitched laugh.

“I could personally beat you to death.”

“Ooh. Okay. And?”

Tony was brimming over with rage.

“I would crush the life out of you with my bare hands- watched as you choked under my hand-“

“Okay, that’s enough now, thanks!” It was cheery, as if Tony had just done him a favour.

He spoke threateningly, but cautiously. “What do you mean, that’s enough?”

“Oh, I’ve just been making some music for Peter to listen to. The things you just said would sound just brilliant at… 20 times the original volume.”

Shit, shit, shit.

This guy knew what he was doing. If he knew about Spider-Man, he knew about Peter’s enhanced hearing. 

Sensory torture.

“Motherfucker.”

“Oh, that’s not polite. I thought we’d been getting along alright.”

Tony knew what was coming, but it didn’t make the kid’s screams any less painful.

“Lesson for you: always remember your manners. Peter seems to have them sorted. Well, I guess I’ll see you later? Or never,” and the call finished abruptly.

Tony went outside and yelled. Just yelled, for a good ten minutes, kneeling down in the grass, tearing out stalks in fists clenched so tight they drained of colour.

This was exactly what he’d been afraid would happen. What he’d tried to prevent, but had been too sloppy.

Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha lol angst to shrivel up your souls and make you cry.  
> sorry


	10. Day 5: Evening - Peter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not very nice, is it? Tell you what, I can make it stop for you! Wouldn’t that be nice?”  
> Peter could only nod.  
> “All you have to do is tell me where you live. Your address.”  
> “N-no. I can’t do- can’t do that.” He dimly recognized the shivering again; his blood no longer felt like fire on his face, but ice.  
> The voice ramped up its volume. “Really? That’s a shame! Let’s carry on, then!”  
> And on it went.  
> He never slept.  
> He’d lost hope that anyone would find him. They all hated him, anyway. He’d prefer to just lie here…  
> Maybe it would all be over soon.

Peter woke up to the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Well, he didn’t really wake up. He’d been awake the entire time. But he was snapped out of a stupor.

His body was a livewire of pain. He could sort of distinguish between the sharper, stabbing pains and the dull aches. Blood was flowing from somewhere on his face.

He still couldn’t see. The now-familiar surge of panic threatened to make him throw up again. 

“Come on,” he thought, trying to rein in his wandering, fuzzy thoughts. “I’m Spider-Spider-Man, right? Huh- I th-th-think… so, uh- I can do… whatever, I can…”

He had no idea at the time that he was speaking aloud, his words tripping over one another. 

He had to stop; the effort of even thinking was too much. He gave in to the violent shivers he had been holding back. His movement was still limited. It was all he could do to wrap his pale, soaking arms around himself as he was wracked with shivering.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The British man laughed lightly, jovially. The child was trembling like a sad little puppy, clad only in his pyjamas, barefoot. The man glanced back at Peter’s jacket, hung in the doorway. It was a nice little thing. Too small, obviously.

It was a shame, really, to have to cut him up for research.

He monitored the various wounds littering the boy’s body. Maybe the one across his chest had been a little harsh, but it looked so nice over the ones Peter had already put there himself. Like a tapestry, made only of red threads.

There were various necessary incisions: the backs of his knees, forearms, elbows, ankles, palms, cheeks. And a few that, admittedly, had been for fun: the ones matching his self-inflicted scars, across his back, a little nick over each broken finger.

He had to say, it was satisfying. To see a beautiful vessel of life being taken over by the thing that kept it alive but was slowly betraying it: blood.

The river water would get into his system soon, prompting multiple infections, if the hypothermia didn’t get him first, or the blood loss.

This prompted an incredulous laugh from the man. He was so smart, wasn’t he?

He’d just have to hope the boy survived long enough for more fun.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

A sharp breath suddenly shot through Tony’s diaphragm.

“I can do something,” he said.

Bruce, who was currently trying without success to call Happy on Peter’s phone (they couldn’t remember anyone’s number and Happy was Peter’s only contact in the Avengers other than Tony), raised his eyebrows.

“What?” he called after Tony, who was rummaging frantically around the cupboards.

“Nat, where is it, the- the- the gauntlet?”

Natasha was already pulling the small gadget out from under a pile of luggage. She held Tony’s shoulder steadily as she handed it to him. The touch made him breathe just a little easier.

“I can call the suit with this, I just need to adapt the repulsor-tech nano-“

“Okay, do that,” interrupted Natasha.

As Tony set himself up with a screwdriver, he could hear Peter’s screams ringing in his ears, but instead of shutting him down, now they spurred him on to work.

As he tinkered, he briefed the team on the situation, looking down so any cameras were unlikely to see him. “They’ve got Peter somewhere, it was impossible to tell where from the call, but they were torturing him. It was… they definitely dumped water on him, and they must have done something to dampen his spider-strength. Apparently, he was shaking-“

“Apparently?” Steve cut in.

“Yeah, the guy was super creepy, he told me about what he could see Peter doing and then what I was doing. That’s how I know they’re watching us somehow. He was British, sounded really… unstable. Like a psychopath.

“But every time I cursed at the guy, or ‘asked the wrong question’, they’d hurt Peter. I don’t know what they were doing, but- yeah.”

“Okay, that’s good,” said Natasha. “Any luck on Happy, Bruce?”

Bruce’s head was in his hands. “No. it’s gone to voicemail 6 times. Why won’t he pick up his damn phone?”

“Once I get the suit I can emergency call anyone I need.”

Steve stepped forward, his face pale but set. “Yeah, we need to talk about who we’re gonna bring in for this mission.”

Natasha immediately raised her hand. “I can go in. I don’t need any weapons to kick ass. I’ll do it for Peter any day.”

“I’ll do it,” chipped in Bucky. “Anything to save Peter.”

“Me too,” said Steve.

Clint and Bruce looked distraught.

“I’m sorry guys, you know I would, but I don’t know whether Hulk’s ever gonna come out again, and if he did…” 

Bruce was as close to tears as Tony had ever seen him. Or heard him. He was focused intensely on the gauntlet. 

“It’s all good, Bruce,” breathed Natasha. “We get it. It would be more dangerous to try and get you to Hulk out at this point.”

Bruce nodded, but his head was down. He slumped back onto the sofa.

Clint spoke up then. “I just- without my bow, I feel like I’d hinder you guys. I don’t want to jeopardize Peter.”

“Sure,” offered Tony, who didn’t have time for excess emotion right now. “I’m going, suit or not. The kid needs me.”

Almost imperceptibly, something clicked within the machinery of the gauntlet.

“Got it.”

He folded out the gauntlet over his fist, pressed a few buttons. “Hey, how many miles are we from the compound?”

Bruce put his head in his hands again. “Thanks to your shitty map, we have no idea.”

“So we’re basically stuck until the suit arrives?” Bucky ventured.

“Not completely,” said Steve. Tony could see his Captain America Face emerging. “Avengers; suit up.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” said Clint despondently.

“Let’s find some weapons, make some suits up. In World War II, we didn’t hesitate when we’d lost our rifles or our uniform. We made do. We’ve got a high-tech campervan; let’s use it.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Peter guessed that his mind was making up for the lack of sight by conjuring up these images.

His friends and family came to him, one at a time, and told him stuff.

Horrible stuff.

Ned told him he was a nerd, that he couldn’t stand to be around Peter anymore. He left in a hurry.

May came and slapped him in the face, yelled at him for being so irresponsible, for getting himself into this mess, for lying to her, for burdening her with himself. She let him know just how ungrateful he was.

The Avengers were there, too. Bucky sat in the corner, staring at him, mask on, hostile. He had a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.

Natasha got right down to the floor opposite him, and taunted him: “Why are you crying, little guy? Why are you crying?” She leaned right in, hissed it in his ear.

Steve took Peter’s jaw forcefully, making him look into the soldier’s eyes. “You thought you were stronger than me- better than Captain America? I was being nice. I let you win then. Let’s see how strong Spider-Man is now, huh?”

He kept repeating it: “Let’s see how strong Spider-Man is now, huh? Let’s see how strong Spider-Man is now, huh?”

Peter felt a foot on his chest, crushing it, drawing blood from the cuts there. Was it Steve? Yeah- wait, someone else-

He lost count of how many times Tony had landed, hand out, faceplate off, glaring at him with eyes brimming with anger, saying, “I’ll crush the life out of you with my bare hands- watch as you choke under my hand. I’ll personally beat you to death. I’ll crush the life out of you with my bare hands-“

Tony’s voice ramped up to a scream.

“What have I done?” Peter yelled. “Mr. Stark, what- what have I done?”

Ben only came in once, his feet not quite touching the floor.

“You pathetic little piece of shit. I couldn’t bear to get loaded with you after your parents died. It was a relief to die, to finally be rid of you. You pathetic little piece of shit!”

Peter cried. “Stop! Stop it!”

Suddenly, the voice of that British guy broke through the hallucination. “It’s not very nice, is it? Tell you what, I can make it stop for you! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Peter could only nod.

“All you have to do is tell me where you live. Your address.”

Even in his groggy state, Peter knew he would be putting May in danger if he gave his address away. He would prefer torture, or whatever this was.

“N-no. I can’t do- can’t do that.” He dimly recognized the shivering again; his blood no longer felt like fire on his face, but ice.

The voice ramped up its volume. “Really? That’s a shame! Let’s carry on, then!”

And on it went.

He never slept.

He’d lost hope that anyone would find him. They all hated him, anyway. He’d prefer to just lie here…

Maybe it would all be over soon.

\---------------------------------------------------------

Tony was surprised at how resourceful the team was.

Natasha and Bucky had made good use of the “I HEART PENN” t-shirts, tearing them into strips and holstering an array of cutlery to their arms and legs. The metal part of one of the tires served as a decent shield for Steve.

Bucky had brought his metal arm with him, the group deciding that it was acceptable to bring prior to the trip, and attached it on with skill. 

Being Avengers of habit, they all had brought a few pieces of clothing suitable for training or fighting. Natasha owned a great many black catsuits and had brought a spare. Bucky wasn’t really a trainer guy and only wore sturdy boots; these served as suitable footwear for him, Natasha and Steve, as long as Nat wore three pairs of socks.

Ropes tied to the roof of the campervan served as weapons belts.

Tony watched them prepare with a sense of relative peace. These guys knew what they were doing. They could save Peter, surely?

Something hit the campervan door with a clang.

They all immediately shot to attention; Bucky motioned for the others to stay where they were and crept noiselessly towards the door, kitchen knife in hand.

When he looked outside, he laughed.

“It’s the suit, Tony!”

The Avengers gathered inside let out a collective sigh of relief. Tony stepped outside and saw a few pieces of suit rattling against the metal wall.

As soon as he came outside, they shot towards him and connected, forming the Iron Man suit within seconds.

Inside, the display lit up.

“Welcome back, sir.”

“FRIDAY, I want you to activate the Emergency Protocol. Call SHIELD, call Rhodey, we got a problem.”

“What would that be?”

“Peter’s been kidnapped.” 

There was a short pause.

“Would you like me to call his Aunt M-“

“No! Not yet. We got to get the situation under control first. I need you to track him.”

“That will take a fair amount of time, I’m afraid, without his phone.”

Tony was pretty sure he already knew, but he asked anyway. “How long?” 

“Around an hour. Possibly more.”

“Shit. Okay, keep trying to reach SHIELD- yes, use their emergency number, this is an emergency.”

“I am sorry about Peter.” FRIDAY’S tone was suitably subdued.

“Yeah, well there’s nothing you could have done. It was my fault.”

“Sir, I believe that to be incorrect.”

“What do you mean?” Tony laughed; it was short, curt, disbelieving.

“You couldn’t have known that Peter was about to get kidnapped. Only those who took him are to blame.”

“Yeah, yeah, heard that a lot.”

“Really? Why would I lie?”

Tony could hear Rhodey now. “Hey, Tones, not a great time. This important or something, because I’ve got a really important meeting on a-

“Peter’s been kidnapped.”

There was a violent rustling noise.

“Okay, what?”

“Peter’s been kidnapped. Someone took him on the trip, so you’d better get your ass into that War Machine suit right now and over to Pennsylvania.”

A sharp intake of breath. “On it.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

The British guy was there.

No longer a disembodied and slightly tinny voice, but standing somewhere in front of him.

“Hi, Peter.” It was spoken softly, almost fondly.

Peter’s breath hitched; he scrambled away warily from the source of the voice, but couldn’t move far before his strength left him, his limbs collapsing.

The man sighed. “Why do you have to fight so much? It’s not helping you. Maybe you should just listen to me for a change.”

He still couldn’t see what the guy looked like; all was darkness.

“But where are my manners? We’ve never met in person, I suppose. My name’s Jim.” Peter could hear the voice getting closer; he was helpless as Jim advanced. 

Suddenly, a hand was in his hair. Peter flinched, bracing himself for another hair-pulling session.

But it was a gentle touch, cold fingers carding through his curls.

Somehow, it was worse.

His throat was absolutely shredded; he could only croak in defiance, shrinking away from the touch.

“You don’t like that? I thought being gentle would be better.” He was getting angry now, the pitch of his voice starting to drop and rise unpredictably.

Maybe his spider-sense was starting to recover; Peter felt a rush of danger just before he was swept off the floor by the same cold, unforgiving hand and slammed against a damp wall in a choke hold.

Jim leaned close into his face, far too close. Peter thought of Natasha.

The man was surprisingly strong; Peter felt his head swim as the hand tightened on his throat. He could feel fresh blood starting to flow down his face from the pressure.

“Why are you crying, Peter? Oh no, that’s not tears- it’s blood. Whoops!”

Peter, for all his effort, couldn’t get his hands up to the one around his throat; his limbs hung uselessly at his sides.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this. To finally meet the Spider-Man in person. To have the pleasure of breaking him, just like I break everyone else. Slowly… intimately.”

The hand was in his hair again, but harder, grazing over the inflamed sparser patches.

“They won’t be able to save you, Peter. Even if they find you, you’ll be dead. You’ll be rotten on the inside. Dead. Your heart is mine now. Your mind is mine.”

Then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t freezing water being poured over him, but boiling. 

Peter was confused. It didn’t feel like water, actually…

\----------------------------------------------------------

He was burning up. The septic shock was already setting in.

The fever should last for half an hour or so, then he’d be back to cold and his blood pressure would drop, possibly fatally.

Jim dropped the boy, letting his head hit the concrete floor. The delirium would set in soon; he would be fun enough without getting up close and personal.

The kid was filthy. Jim went and washed his hands thoroughly, and changed into a new suit for good measure.

He had a nice face, though. Sweet. The blue pallor of his face really complimented his eyes.

Jim laughed to himself.

He peered at the monitor to his right. Sure enough, the Avengers were preparing themselves to head out. He found it hilarious that they had already forgotten that he was watching.

Blinded by the urge to protect the child.

Stupid people.

He was already dead to them. Whether that meant physically or emotionally, Jim would just have to wait and see.

He was proud of himself. This was one of the most entertaining games he’d thought up since his last trip to Baker Street.

\------------------------------------------------------------

A familiar-sounding whir alerted him to Rhodey’s arrival at the campsite. Still in the Iron Man suit, he stepped out of the campervan and sure enough, the War Machine (Iron Patriot was so not cooler) suit was landing on the grass.

When the faceplate lifted, the face underneath was streaked with tears.

Tony was surprised. Rhodey had only met Peter once or twice.

And at the same time, he wasn’t surprised at all. It was Peter.

“Rhodey,” breathed Tony, disconnecting the suit then to embrace his friend.

“Tones. How did it happen?”

“I don’t know how the guy got Peter, but he left a note in the grass saying we wouldn’t find him here. I called him later on, he was torturing…”

All of a sudden, it was hard to speak.

“Torturing Peter over the phone.”

“You alright?” Rhodey seemed concerned, which was stupid because their only concern should be Peter right now.

“I have to be.”

Rhodey nodded solemnly, then seemed to snap back into professionalism.

“Have you managed to track him yet?” 

“He doesn’t have his phone on him or anything, and we’ve got no tech except the suit, so it’s slow, but-“ he stepped back into the suit to check- “It should have his location in 3 minutes.”

3 minutes. His heart hardened.

“You ready to kick some serious ass, then?” asked Tony.

“For Peter, always.”

They all loved him so much.

Tony didn’t cry when he realized this. He told himself he wouldn’t cry when he saw Peter.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

A small blue light came to his attention.

“Boss, there is a 78 percent likelihood that Peter is in the indicated underground storage facility.”

Tony’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“Really?”

“It is impossible to be sure.”

“Well, I haven’t got any better options.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Thanks for the moral support as always, FRIDAY.”

“Any time.”

“Guys, we got a location! It’s a storage facility about 4 miles from here.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Tony and Rhodey opted to fly ahead of the rest of the team, who were driving the campervan, to get to the location first. Bruce and Clint would stay inside the vehicle.

The place looked abandoned. Typical. Tony wondered whether this villain was really as big a threat as he had thought.

The door was open, literally swinging on its hinges in the breeze. “What the hell?” whispered Tony.

Steve’s voice came over the comm, crackling little. “What’s it like?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any security whatsoever. Door’s open.”

Natasha cut in. “It could be a trap; keep looking, stay alert.”

Tony took in a sharp, steeling breath. He needed to be okay, for the kid’s sake.

He wouldn’t cry when he saw Peter. He wouldn’t panic; he wouldn’t break down, because Peter really, really needed him right now.

He glanced at Rhodey, who seemed to be going through the same thought process.

“We can do this.” It was a statement and a question.

Rhodey nodded. “Yes, we can.”

They reluctantly set their blasters to “don’t-kill-them-but-make-them-regret-the-shit-they-did”, and stepped into the gloom of the storage facility.

It was eerily quiet. The absence of light and noise made Tony almost long for some AC DC or whatever to break the tension. His arc reactor provided a good enough light.

“We’re in, nothing weird yet.”

Then came the screams.

Not just one at a time, but hundreds. All around them. So loud the two yelled in surprise.

All Peter’s screams, recorded and replayed on a loop.

And the sounds seemed to be coming from inside the suits.

Desperate to be away from the noise, Rhodey deactivated the suit, stumbling out with a look of relief.

Tony knew it was a bad choice, but his eardrums felt like they were about to combust, so he stumbled out of his suit.

The screaming stopped instantly.

“What the fuck?” said Rhodey under his breath.

“You heard that, right?”

“They’re forcing us out of the suits.”

“Oh, shit. If we don’t have the suits, we got no communication with the rest of the team.”

They were saved the trouble of solving the dilemma, however, by the armed men and women who suddenly poured out of the corridor in front of them.

Tony immediately sprung into action, clasping his hands together to knock the Iron Man suit into pieces and rushing to shove the gauntlets and foot pieces on. A woman was right on top of him just as he knocked her out with a metal punch to the face.

Rhodey had used the body of an attacker to break down his suit and was already blasting guys.

It was very cathartic, getting up close to the hostiles and taking them down personally. They were all pretty skilled fighters and far better equipped, but eventually, it became clear that they didn’t have much of a chance against Tony and Rhodey together.

Tony wished he knew what that sick psychopath he’d called looked like; he could have plastered his face over each fighter and watched with satisfaction as the bastard fell again and again.

When it was all over and the bodies of the warriors littered the floor, Tony only felt more angry than before.

At the end of the long corridor was a door which was, almost comfortingly, locked. It was no bother, however, to blast it open. They paid no heed to subtlety anymore; they’d already lost that.

The door, after a few attempts, caved in, revealing a rusty iron staircase, leading down. They no longer had any source of light; the near-darkness was disconcerting. He couldn’t even see Rhodey, standing next to him.

“Hey, you still there Rhodey?”

Only the echo of his own voice.

“Rhodey?” 

Tony swiped at the empty air beside him. 

“Rhodey? Godamnit Rhodey-“

\-------------------------------------------------------

The heat had left Peter a few minutes ago. It had been a relief for roughly three seconds, before the cold set in again.

This time, it was worse, he was pretty sure.

How long had it been since he had seen, or moved, or spoke?

His throat felt like a block of ice had been jammed up it. He couldn’t even shiver any more, didn’t have the energy. He could dimly hear his own breathing; it sounded more like choking.

Everything was distant; he couldn’t feel his own body much anymore. He wondered where his feet were. There was a dim voice in his ears: 

“Here they are. Your heroes, coming to save the day. Goodbye, Peter. You’re dead now. You’re dead and gone. They won’t reach you in time. The cold means you’re dying, Peter… you’ll be gone soon… it was fun while it lasted, I suppose…”

He was dying.

No. Not yet.

Jim was surprised when the boy managed to choke out, “But I don’t wanna go.”

It was a mantra now; Peter lifted his head, just slightly, trembling, and whispered thinly, “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”

Jim put his face in his hands. “No, no, no no, NO!” His voice rose to a childish, yet threatening, scream. “This isn’t what it’s supposed to be like! It was going so well, Peter: just give up already, idiot!”

He rose from the monitor, glancing at the image of a tied-up Rhodes and the one of the slowly advancing Stark, and stormed into the room.

Peter was still chanting the words when Jim leaned right into his face, hauling him upright, spitting with rage, as he yelled, “Give up! Just give up and die already! GIVE UP, YOU IDIOT!”

For good measure, he punched the boy across the face.

He slid out of Jim’s grip, limp but still breathing, “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.”

“Shut up!” And Jim continued to hit Peter, punching his jaw until it made a harsh clicking noise, stamping on his legs and arms like a child jumping in a puddle.

Through it all, Peter didn’t respond, still saying, “I don’t wanna go.” It sounded delirious, but he wouldn’t stop, whatever Jim did to him.

The rage filling Jim rose to breaking point. He stalked over to the corner of the room, where a long knife was stored. He’d do it himself if he had to.

He was wearing a nice suit, too.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Tony felt like he was walking into a trap.

He hadn’t encountered any trouble since Rhodey had gone. Nothing.

As he rounded a corner, however, the faint sound of yells broke through the pregnant silence. It didn’t sound like Peter, but Tony would bet it was that British psychopath.

He broke into a run, filled with steely resolve, following the sound until it led him to yet another door. 

He’d have to get the door open in one shot to give himself the element of surprise against this guy. Fiddling with his repulsors, he set them to the highest setting.

Aiming, his hand shaking minutely, at the lock on the door, he gathered himself…

And fired.

It all happened within the space of a few seconds, and somehow it took hours at the same time.

The door swung open. 

“Peter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I ended up including Moriarty in this fic, it was suggested by Ellie_Laurens and I just went for it because I literally made up this entire plot on the spot I-????? I know he's got an Irish accent but Peter and Tony probably wouldn't know or care so...  
> And yes, Yet More IW references in this chapter- I think it's cool I don't even know what I'm doing anymore :))))  
> I'm going to resolve all this by Chapter 12 don't worry! Have a great day all- treat yourselves on my behalf! Love you all xxx


	11. Day 6: Morning - Keep Being Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony readily took the kid’s hand, squeezing it gently in his own.  
> Peter choked in pain, making Tony start. Looking more closely at the kid’s hands, he saw the fingers were bent out of shape. Tony gritted his teeth in rage- was there any part of Peter Moriarty hadn’t hurt?  
> He took Peter’s palm between his fingers instead.  
> The shirt he held to Peter’s stomach was soaked all over with blood. The kid’s eyes began to slide shut; he groaned gently.  
> “Hey, Peter, don’t fall asleep. I know it’s really hard, you should never have gone through this, but you need to stay awake, buddy.”  
> The eyes opened again, slowly. The whites were bloodshot; his eyes roved wildly around the room, rolling up into his head.  
> “Look at me, Peter,” he said softly, still applying pressure to the wound, still grasping the hand. “Kid, look at me. Hey. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep listening to me, and stay awake. Can you do that?”

“Peter?”

Tony could see the kid’s prone body on the floor, a guy leaning over him. The guy turned sharply towards him in surprise, and Tony saw the knife in Peter’s stomach.

It looked like he’d only just been stabbed. Tony would blame himself for that wound forever; if he’d got in there a few seconds earlier, he could have prevented it.

His fighting instincts took over- the instinct to protect his kid- and he blasted the fucker right in the chest, sending him flying into the corner of the room.

It was a dimly lit, cold, damp, dusty place. Tony hated it already.

As the guy struggled to collect himself on the other side of the room, he laughed, out of breath. “That was good, Stark! Want to try again? It’s sweet, how much you love the boy. I’m afraid he doesn’t love you back.”

That made Tony pause.

“He told me himself. Don’t think he was too thrilled by your death threats.”

Tony actually growled then.

“Go on. Punch it out, like you always do. Kill me, and know you’re no better than me. It’s all just playing the game, isn’t it, Stark? You of all people should know that.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” said Tony. He cast a glance to Peter, who was still unmoving, blood seeping over his stomach, his face drained of color.

The man smirked. “Jim Moriarty. Hi.”

Jesus, this guy was definitely a psychopath.

Tony only hoped someone else would get into the room soon- he couldn't beat up this guy and help Peter at the same time. “You hurt my kid. You die for that.”

Jim only laughed.

“I said you die for that! Don’t you have any emotion?” Tony was screaming now. He noticed Peter stirring out of the corner of his eye; the kid was trying to back away from Tony already.

He would kill that son of a bitch.

But before he could punch Moriarty’s lights out, a pair of legs emerged from the darkness, flooring him with a swift set of kicks.

Natasha’s face followed. She continued to spar with Moriarty as they spoke.

“You took your damn time, Romanov.”

“You were silent over the comms. We thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.” Tony was by Peter’s side as soon as he could, but it felt all too similar to when he fell from that tree and Tony had been useless to help.

Peter looked awful.

He was a mass of warring blue and red. Blue pyjamas stained with crimson blood. Scarlet blood all over his far-too-still body, contrasting with the pale blue pallor of the rest of his skin.

The sick fuck had cut him all over, small, methodical incisions, some of which looked badly infected and oozed pus.

He was filthy; still damp from the water, covered in a layer of grime from laying on the floor so long.

The knife was still lodged in his stomach; he was losing blood so fast he could be a fucking fountain.

Tony knew he shouldn’t take it out, but the sight of it sticking out of him made him gag, not with repulsion at Peter, but at the sick freak that did this to him.

Fuck. They needed Bruce, or somebody, some medical backup, or-

He yelled at Natasha to call an ambulance.

Assess the damage. The most pressing issue was clearly the stab wound. Ever so gently, reluctant to cause the kid any further pain than the agony he must have been through already, Tony lifted his shirt, revealing the ugly wound. Tony sucked in a labored breath.

“Oh, Pete.”

Tony could see the self-harm scars too now. There were deeper, fresher cuts over them, those methodical lines again.

The kid was unresponsive to his gentle calls. Tony gently carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, noticing painful bald patches on his head.

It was then when he cried.

Tony wanted to be the one to kill Moriarty, no matter what bullshit he’d been talking about, that he’d win; wanted to hurt him so that he was unrecognizable. No-one did that to Peter and lived.

The kid was so cold; touching his ashen face, Tony drew his hand back. It was like ice.

He had nothing on him but the clothes on his own back. He took off his shirt and jacket, balling up his shirt and using it to staunch the bleeding as best as he could around the still-embedded knife, and laid the jacket across Peter, pulling off the kid’s sodden and dirtied pyjamas.

“Peter? Kid? We really need you to wake up now, bud. You can do it. Come on, Peter. Can you hear me? I need you right now.”

Tony shuffled forward, propping Peter’s head up on his lap, whispering to him. He could just barely see the kid breathing.

A jolt beneath Tony’s fingers, which were still in Peter’s hair, as Peter suddenly regained consciousness. 

He looked up at Tony with a look of horror, of fear.

Shit. This was what Moriarty had mentioned. Peter was afraid of him.

He heard his heart shatter.

The kid had no strength left in him; he could barely lift a hand to try and escape from Tony, but his breaths were catching wetly in his throat, making a rasping sound which terrified Tony.

He noticed Peter flinching away from the hand in his hair. Someone had been pulling it out, of course he didn’t want to be touched there. Tony relinquished the hand and caught Peter’s wrist instead.

“Hey, Peter,” he said, in a soft and comforting tone he'd never thought would come from him. “Pete, it’s alright. That man- Jim- he’s gone now, I’m not gonna hurt you-“

But Peter’s breaths were only quickening. His eyes were wide, unfocused, glazed; his face contorted in pain.

“You…” Peter's throat looked inflamed; there were finger-shaped bruises there.

“Shh, don’t try to talk, kid. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s me, Tony. I wouldn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. I love you, kid.”

Peter seemed to relax just a little. His gaze drifted to the shirt Tony held to his stomach, slowly being dyed red. 

The labored breathing started again; he began to shake.

“It’s okay Peter, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” It was torture not to be able to touch the kid; Tony didn’t want to scare him more.

But Peter’s hand was straining at his side.

“You want me to hold your hand, bud?”

Peter nodded, his ashen, blood-caked face moving just slightly.

Tony readily took the kid’s ice-cold hand, squeezing it gently in his own.

Peter choked in pain, making Tony start. Looking more closely at the kid’s hands, he saw the fingers were bent out of shape. Tony gritted his teeth in rage- was there any part of Peter Moriarty hadn’t hurt?

He took Peter’s palm between his fingers instead.

The shirt he held to Peter’s stomach was soaked all over with blood. The kid’s eyes began to slide shut; he groaned gently.

“Hey, Peter, don’t fall asleep. I know it’s really hard, you should never have gone through this, but you need to stay awake, buddy.”

The eyes opened again, slowly. The whites were bloodshot; his eyes roved wildly around the room, rolling up into his head.

“Look at me, Peter,” he said softly, still applying pressure to the wound, still grasping the hand. “Kid, look at me. Hey. You’re gonna be okay. Just keep listening to me, and stay awake. Can you do that?”

Tony hadn’t been expecting a response. Peter’s eyes were on him, but he wasn’t really looking.

That was the least of his concerns.

Glancing quickly around the room, he saw that both Nat and Moriarty were gone.

“Does it hurt?” Tony was tearful as he watched the kid struggling to stay awake.

Peter shook his head loosely. “Cold,” he croaked. “Can’t- see…”

“Okay. Just listen, then. Help’s coming. You’ll be alright soon.”

For lack of other things to say, Tony told Peter all about how much Tony loved him.

“Remember when you came into the compound at the start of the trip, and you had that huge yellow coat on? You looked so sweet then; I think all the Avengers who met you just wanted to give you a big hug. When you get better, they’re all going to fuss over you like there’s no tomorrow. You’re a lucky kid, you know. They all love you. I love you. I love you so much, Peter. Don’t go to sleep just yet. Come on, Pete. You’re so brave.”

But despite his efforts, the shirt couldn’t soak up any more blood, Peter’s eyes were shutting again, his pulse kept getting slower, and no-one was there yet.

He was so desperate, he yelled.

“Hey! Anyone? Nat! Steve! We need help in here, goddamnit! He’s fucking dying-“

A team of medics burst in.

No doubt Peter had heard their approaching footsteps, because his eyes snapped open again and he shrunk away from the noise, curling in on himself, causing more blood to flow from the stab wound.

“Hey, kid, Peter, don’t worry, it’s the medics. I promise you, they’re gonna help you. You’re safe. Trust me.”

But Peter shook his head, gasping with pain but still attempting to edge away from the noise.

Tony yelled at the medics to stop.

“He can’t see and he’s scared, okay? Give him a second-“

“He doesn’t have a second, Mr. Stark.” It was one of the medics.

“Alright. One of you, talk to him.”

“His name’s Peter, right?” A young, red-haired woman stepped forward, fluorescent bag swinging from her arm.

Tony nodded, tracing circles into Peter’s inner arm. “Yeah. Hey, Peter, this is…”

“Rebecca. Hey, Peter. I promise you, I’m here to help. We can make you better. Now, can you tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad your pain is?”

Peter didn’t respond. He was still breathing; still had his unseeing eyes open, but seemed unable to process the question.

Tony shook his head at Rebecca gently.

The genius kid who created his own web formula was now unable to answer simple questions.

Moriarty, that sick bastard.

“Does it hurt now, Pete?” Tony tried.

Rebecca had knelt down by Peter but maintained a good distance. Behind her, the team of medics was setting up some sort of stretcher.

Suddenly, Peter’s eyes filled with hears.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Slowly, Rebecca replaced Tony’s shirt with a clean piece of cloth. It was patterned with little ducks.

Another medic laid one of those shiny blankets across the kid.

“Do you know anything about what happened?” asked Rebecca, her voice level but quiet.

“They made cuts at strategic places all over him; I think they’d been experimenting on him or something. He said he was cold- some of the cuts are really infected, see- so I think they used dirty water on him and it’s done something. I came in just after the stabbing. His- someone must have been pulling- pulling out his hair, don’t touch his head, he gets really s-scared-“

Fuck it, he was panicking now.

He hadn’t noticed the throb in his left arm until now; he grabbed it as he gulped for air, ashamed. 

He was shirtless. It was a really strange scene.

The medics had another shiny blanket for him; someone was crouched in front of him, telling him to take deep breaths, asking if he was injured too, but he waved them away, pushing through the waves of panic, staying by Peter’s side, holding his hand as they lifted him onto the stretcher in one swift movement.

Peter’s eyes were roving again. “Hey, kid, they’re getting you onto a stretcher, you’re nearly out now, it’s all good.” Tony’s voice was gravelly, his breath too fast, but Peter didn’t seem to care, gripping Tony’s hand like a lifeline and hanging on his every word. 

Even as they carried the stretcher through the dark corridors, Rebecca still applying pressure to the stab wound and Peter’s face somehow getting even more grey, Tony was there, speaking soothingly.

When they emerged into the light, Tony was aware of the other Avengers gathered anxiously around the campervan and the police convoy parked alongside it- he scanned the group, just to check they were all there- but he kept his attention on Peter, jogging along beside the stretcher.

“Hey, Peter, you see that? That’s light. We’re out, you’re safe now. You’re good. It’s all going to be okay. You can sleep real soon. You’re being so brave, Peter. I love you, you know?”

\---------------------------------------------------------

It was a tight squeeze with Tony, Bucky, and Steve in one ambulance.

It was a helicopter, actually; the wilderness of Pennsylvania was not ideal for cars.

The medics had eventually given in and let the three ride with Peter, while the rest of the Avengers followed in a police car.

Steve leaned into Bucky tensely. Bucky had been crying.

They couldn’t see Peter right then; the medics were taking some emergency measures to keep him alive until they reached the hospital.

“How’s he doing?” asked Bucky softly, looking at Tony imploringly.

Tony hissed out a breath. “Do you want the list?”

His fists had drained of color from the force that he clenched them with.

“That… fucking freak- calls himself Moriarty- he was torturing Peter. In the sickest…”

He dropped his head in his hands, choosing to disassociate himself from the information he was about to impart.

“Multiple incisions all over his body. Tortured by dirty water, inducing sepsis and pneumonia. Hair pulled out. Fingers broken. Drugged so he couldn’t move, see or heal. Cracked ribs from being stepped on. Throat torn up by screaming and dehydration, as well as repetitive choking. Stabbed in the stomach.”

Tony could see Steve crushing Bucky’s flesh hand. Bucky had a look of grim resignation on his face as he leaned his head against the wall. “He’s a kid. He’s- he’s fucking fifteen.” 

“You got that Moriarty guy, then?” Tony’s voice brimmed with barely controlled anger. “You made him pay for what he did?”

“You bet,” said Steve, pulling out his makeshift ‘shield’ from under the bench they sat on. It was twisted and dented and caked in blood.

Just a little bit of the weight crushing Tony’s chest was lifted. 

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

Tony shot upright, tension suddenly filling his body again. “That man is smart and a freak, he needs to be dead, what if he does something ag-“

“Tony,” interrupted Bucky, firmly but calmly. “He’s going to prison for life, no trial. It’s the most secure prison in England, it’s called Sherrinford. No-one’s ever escaped from it.”

“But I told him, I said he’d die for doing that- I don’t trust anyone- he could still hurt Peter- what if this time he-he-“

This time he was interrupted by a cool blackness which slid over him.

\--------------------------------------------------------

When Tony woke up again, he was in a hospital bed.

The first thought that came to him was Peter’s name.

He hauled himself out of bed, still a little groggy, and rushed out of the empty room he was in, emerging into a busy corridor.

Glancing, bewildered, at the array of signs ahead of him, the words “Intensive Care” leaped out at him; alarm bells ringing in his mind, he skidded along the corridor in the direction the sign had pointed him in.

He was now clad in a clean shirt and jeans. They were some of his own.

Pepper.

It was taking far too long to reach the ICU; he broke into a run, paying no heed to the whispers and quizzical looks of those around him.

He dimly remembered that he’d been with Steve and Bucky, that he’d blacked out. Someone probably stuck some sedative in him to shut him up.

But it didn’t matter.

Peter.

He burst through a set of doors and was met by a team of doctors, all huddled over the kid’s pale, prone form.

“Surgery’ll take 5-“

“Is he alive?”

There were so many tubes coming out of him. He had one of those tube things that goes in your nose. I- something- it started with I.

“Mr. Stark, you can’t be in here. Both you and Peter need to rest.”

“I don’t care. I’ll ask again: is he alive? Is my kid alright? He needs me, he gets really scared when he’s with people he doesn’t know. Have you got the knife out? Tell me!”

He’d hardly noticed his left arm doing the thing again. Oh, screw his arm.

The doctors were looking at him as if they knew exactly what was wrong with him.

“Yes, he is alive,” spoke a doctor calmly. “Now, you need to get back to your ward; you’re not well either, sir.”

“What?” It was said breathlessly. The familiar ache in his chest was back. Oh, fuck it-

“It’s not healthy for you to be under stress right now. We’ll get someone to escort you back to your bed.”

“What do you mean, not healthy? I- it’s not me that’s the problem! It’s Peter! Now can you fix him or not? Can you fix my kid?”

He was yelling. A lot.

Then someone’s hands were on his shoulders, startling him.

“Tony, you need to calm down.” It was Pepper, her soothing voice immediately easing some of the pent-up tension he felt.

He let out a strained breath.

“There you go. I checked with the staff- Peter’s gonna be alright, none of his vital organs were damaged so he’ll be alright. Now we need to worry about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” said Tony, pushing her away a little.

“How long have you been having chest pains?” Pepper looked into his eyes.

“Jesus, Pep, chest pains? Peter’s right there, on his damn deathbed and we’re talking about chest pains?”

“The doctors reckon you’ve had a few minor heart attacks in the past few years. Don’t tell me that’s not serious, Tony. Why didn’t you say something?”

He was getting tunnel vision.

The panic attacks that hurt- really, really hurt.

Feeling like his heart wasn’t working in times of stress.

His numb left arm.

Holy shit.

Tony met Pepper’s eye then. “Can they fix it?” 

“I don’t know.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Despite the complaints of the doctors, Tony stayed with Peter until the last second. He wanted them to take the knife out of him, get rid of that ugly reminder of what Moriarty had done to his kid, but they said they’d have to remove it safely in the operating room.

Peter was under anesthetic. He finally got to sleep.

It was only when Peter’s eyes started to flutter a few minutes later that Tony remembered about the spider-shit.

“Is Helen Cho here?” asked Tony hesitantly.

It was Pepper, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, who answered, catching Tony’s eye meaningfully. “She said she’d be right over.”

“Well, I think we need her pretty soon,” Tony hissed.

“Mr. Stark, I think we have this under control,” retorted one of the doctors, Tony didn’t care which.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Tony spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Okay, I’m gonna tell you this, but you can’t breathe a word to anyone else, right?”

“Um- sure.”

“He… has a really fast metabolism. Like, so fast he’s about to wake up and you’re going to need to up the dosage.”

Just then, he heard a strained word: “Tony?”

Tony switched on a smile. “Hey, Pete. Look, you’re not really supposed to be up yet, so we’re gonna get you back to sleep real soon.” He nodded at the team of doctors purposefully.

Peter looked awful. The majority of the blood had been cleaned from his face, but Tony noticed the thin sheen of cold sweat on his pale face. He let out a low groan of pain, gritting his teeth.

“Okay,” he whispered, relieved. Sleep…

Tony gently brushed Peter’s dirty, damaged hair back from his forehead as he drifted back off.

“Sir, we need to operate now,” said one of the doctors, surprisingly gently.

“Okay. He’s- he’s different, though. You’ll need twice the strength of anesthetic you’d use for a full-grown man to keep him out. Just… trust me on that. I don’t want him hurting anymore.”

He gave Peter a quick kiss on the forehead and whispered, “Keep being brave, kid.”

“Come on, Tony, you need to rest now,” called Pepper, taking him by the elbow and leading him out of the door. As much as he craned his neck, Tony didn’t manage to take a last glimpse of Peter before he was taken away.

In one huge rush, Tony felt his strength leave him; he sank to the floor in the middle of the hospital corridor.

He cried soundlessly.

Would anything ever come close to fixing this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't even process how awesome all you guys are!  
> This fic is nearly coming to an end, and to all the people that have stuck with me, left kudos and commented, thank you so much! You have no idea how much your kind words mean to me! I wish I could hop over to wherever you all are and give you all a hug!  
> Writing this fic has taken a lot of time out of the last few weeks but every second has been worth it because of the crazy support I've had through it all! I'll save the rest for tomorrow's chapter, the final installment (What will I do with my life after I finish writing?), but just know how great you guys are! Have a splendid day, see you tomorrow! xx


	12. Day 7 And Onward - Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you ever have something that’s on your mind, you tell May, or me, or Bucky, or the other Avengers. Telling Bucky when you did was good, but you didn’t have to let it get that far. It just- breaks my heart to hear you’re hurting yourself. I don’t understand why you’d have any reason to, because you’re the best kid I ever met. You- do you want me to write out a list?”  
> “Seriously?” Peter was choked up, staring at Tony like he was the rising sun.  
> “Yeah. What, d’you think I’d invite you on the road trip, or the Avengers, or make you a suit, if I didn’t like you?”  
> “I-I-I don’t understand.” Peter’s face was red with the effort of holding back tears. “Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve any of this.”  
> “Yes, you do, Peter. You deserve the entire world. It’s the world that doesn’t deserve you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wouldn't believe how many weird medical things I found out writing this chapter! For later on in the chapter: an NEA is a Non-Epileptic Attack, look it up if you want more context!

Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Rhodey sat disconsolately in the hospital waiting room, with the rest of the room gawking at them.

Seeing a flash go off in the corner of his eye, Rhodey, who was holding an ice pack to his head, glared at the young woman holding the offending phone until she slowly lowered it.

Some bastard had knocked him out with the barrel of their gun and dragged him into a cell. Luckily, the cops had scoured the entire warehouse to secure it and rescued him in the process. 

None of the others had sustained any injuries apart from minor bruises and cuts. They seemed almost guilty for it: that Peter had been so badly hurt and they were all fine.

Pepper had stepped in at one point and briefed them quietly on how the kid was doing.

Rhodey had never even seen this guy, Jim Moriarty. He wished he’d been there with Tony when the bitch stabbed Peter, so he could have at least punched his face in.

How could anyone be so… disgusting that they’d hurt Peter? Torture him, even?

A fifteen-year-old kid. And a little ray of sunshine.

Would that be lost forever in him, after all this?

Rhodey huffed out a breath.

“Hey, anyone want to- uh, see their drawings?”

It was Steve, sketchbook in hand, head ducked.

Bruce perked up a little at the mention of the drawings and nodded an affirmative.

Clearing his throat nervously, Steve flipped to a page.

There was Bruce, head in a book, coffee in hand, looking sleepy but content. There was a small trail of steam coming from the coffee, and a shape that resembled a thought bubble from the book, combining at the top of the page. His glasses had slid to the end of his nose.

On the next page was Clint, wearing a plaid shirt and brandishing a marshmallow kebab, eyes shut, grinning. His feet were planted far apart in a confident stance; his hair was slightly tousled.

Then was Natasha, guitar cradled in her arms. Her head was ducked, but she looked up almost shyly, apart from her typical cold confidence. Her sock-clad ankles were crossed as she sat in a camping chair. One hand was poised above the guitar’s sound hole; a small pair of music notes ascended from the instrument’s sound hole.

Next was Tony. He was mid-lip-sync, one arm flung wide and the other over his chest. His mouth was open, a wide grin splitting his face, which was tipped back, and lighting up his eyes. His hair flew around behind him and his jacket was half off. The snarky, cool façade was done away with in the heat of the moment.

Steve had managed to capture the Avengers as they really were. It was beautiful.

Bucky was on the next page, dozing lightly. Steve had doodled a little flower tucked behind his ear. His long hair fell softly into his eyes, tangling in his eyelashes. He’d ditched his metal arm, leaving his flesh arm slung over his stomach. 

The shirt and pants he wore were loose, as was his stance, which was often tense. He was barefoot; the toes that peeked out from his pants were curled and vulnerable-looking.

Then came Peter.

He was sat on a bed, legs curled under him, hair curly from the open air, tablet in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. He was smiling down at the tablet, a genuine, open smile; his hazel eyes lit up with his happiness as well as the glow from the device. He wore the same pyjamas he was wearing when…

On the tablet screen was written in capital letters: “WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH PETER!” The words were surrounded by little clusters of hearts.

Nat left the room.

Rhodey didn’t see the significance of the staging of the drawing, but it still hit him hard.

“Sorry,” muttered Steve, shutting the sketchbook hurriedly and angrily wiping away a tear.

“No, it’s beautiful.” Bucky put a steadying hand on Steve’s arm.

Steve seemed to hesitate for a second. “There’s one more. I don’t…”

“Let’s see,” chipped in Rhodey.

It was all of the road trip team, arms around each other, all wearing matching “I HEART PENN” t-shirts. Steve had even drawn himself. In the middle of them all, with Tony on one side and Bucky on the other, was Peter, looking pretty small next to the two taller men, but laughing, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder and looking up adoringly at the man.

“I think we should put that by his bedside,” said Clint, who had been unusually silent until then.

“Peter’s?”

“Yeah, he’d love it.”

\--------------------------------------------------

“May?”

The line crackled despite the fancy Stark phone Tony was using; he suspected Peter’s aunt’s phone was not so much.

Her tone was cheerful. “Tony. How’s the road trip going? Peter called me a couple of days ago, he seemed like he was having a great time-“

“You might want to sit down for this, May.”

Silence over the line.

“I’m not going to sit down. You’re going to tell me what’s up, and where you are so if you caused any pain for my kid I can yell at you in person.”

Jesus, she was protective. Damn right. He deserved every bit of May’s contempt.

Pepper stood in front of him, ready to intervene if it got too stressful.

He looked up at her for a distraction as he said the thing he’d already said so many times: “Peter was kidnapped the night before last.”

He heard May start to say something and butted in.

“It wouldn’t have helped you to tell you before we found him, you only would have worried. We’ve got him, he’s safe and he’s going to live. I sent a car to come pick you up and take you to the hospital. He’s not… doing great, though, May. He’s– he’s been tortured. I- I don’t know, uh, what- it’s a lot… a lot of, um-“

Pepper took the phone firmly from his tightening hand and began to comb her hand through his hair as she took over the call.

“He got hurt pretty bad, and we’re so sorry, but there was nothing Tony could have done. They were all asleep and without weapons when it happened. Don’t blame him, please; he’s in a bad enough state.”

Tony shook his head; Pepper held his cheek, stilling the motion, and shook her head back at him.

She let Tony pull away.

\--------------------------------------------------

Bucky had seen Peter’s Iron Man teddy still lying on his bed, and had grabbed it before they went into the hospital. Now, he set it on Peter’s bedside table along with the team drawing signed, “From Steve and the Avengers Team.” They’d all added little messages, even Rhodey.

“Can’t wait to see you again!”

“You’re the best, Peter!”

“We all love you so much, Pete.”

“You’re so brave.”

They’d got him a bag of marshmallows too. And a bunch of Spider-Man balloons.

The hospital didn’t allow more than three visitors in Peter’s room, so Nat and Bucky joined Tony in watching over him.

The surgery had left the kid looking like Frankenstein’s monster for the number of stitches and bandages all over him. They had given him meds for the sepsis and cleaned him up gently. The pneumonia would take a week or so to work its way out of his system.

It was a relief to see a little color back in his face, although the cuts and bruises littering it were still there. That didn’t ease the sorrow Tony felt envelop him at the sight of all the bandages. Covering both hands, helping the broken fingers heal. Across his chest and stomach. Over his forehead, knees, and elbows. Patches of gauze over his cheeks and back.

Instead of blood, he was swamped with white fabric, bound up like broken glass. It was barely better.

For lack of a better option, Tony held Peter’s upper wrist. He wouldn’t stir from the kid’s bedside until he’d woken up.

There was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose; the IV tube still trailed from him, along with another going into his wrist.

He looked dead. Tony was scared.

But suddenly, he stirred, just slightly. 

Immediately, he screwed up his reddened eyes and grunted in pain.

“Hey, is it the lights, kid?” Tony didn’t let go of Peter’s wrist; the kid glanced at him and started as he realized he could see again. Peter nodded faintly. 

That was good. It meant his spider-stuff was coming back, most likely, and the drugs were leaving his system.

Tony gestured to the other two to turn down the lights. “That’s great, Peter. That means you can see. You’re getting better already.”

Probably wondering who had dimmed the lights, Peter looked over his shoulder and saw Bucky and Natasha, who had sat back down on his other side.

Tony had forgotten about what Moriarty had said.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t love you back.”

“He wasn’t too thrilled by your death threats.”

Oh, shit. The creep had probably twisted the image of all the Avengers in the kid’s mind with the things they’d said.

He was too late to do anything, though.

Peter yelped, flinching away from the pair and into Tony, shaking, eyes filling with tears as all he’d been through came back to him and he waited for Natasha to stab him in the back and Bucky to shoot him for good measure.

“Shit- Bucky, Nat, get out-“

But the kid’s breaths were quickening and the shaking had morphed into convulsions. Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head and closed; waves of tension like electricity were coursing through him, causing his back to arch and arms to jerk at his sides.

“Call a doctor!” yelled Tony as he took Peter’s shoulders. “Peter, oh my god Peter-“

He’d never seen this before. He had no idea what to do.

The kid was choking up spit, the veins on his face popping out. There were tears running out of his tightly shut eyes.

It was all Tony could do to hold the kid gently as he thrashed, crying along with him, until a doctor came bustling in.

“It’s an NEA,” the man murmured.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?” Tony hid his terror under a thin veneer of rage.

Faintly, he heard Peter speak. “Tony…”

“I’m here, kid. You can get through this, you’re so brave, you’re so…”

It took a good 3 minutes for the attack to subside, convulsions slowly easing off and fading back to trembling. By then, Peter was drenched in sweat and panting.

Tony exhaled in relief. “You did it, Pete, you’re all right now.”

“What was I doing?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not… not really.”

The doctor spoke up. “That’s quite common in people who have non-epileptic attacks. Could I ask you a few questions, Peter, if you’re not too tired?”

Tony wanted to scream at this doctor who didn’t seem to care about Peter in the slightest.

It all clicked into place, however, when he said: “Have you ever experienced irrational-seeming anxiety or panic attacks?”

Peter glanced at Tony, weighing up his options. He didn’t want to tell Tony about any of this, but after whatever the heck just happened he’d probably have to.

And the way Tony nodded when he looked into Peter’s eyes made him feel so safe. This was Tony, not whatever Jim had done to Iron Man. Tony saved him when he thought no-one would. Tony stayed with him.

“Yes.” It was a huge weight off his chest. He let Tony grip his arm as he continued to speak: “Pretty often. Every week, normally.”

“Have you ever experienced an attack like this?”

“No. But it didn’t… feel so different from a panic attack.”

All of a sudden, he felt tired. Worn out.

“We have an idea of the trauma you went through in the past few days, but is there a reason why Mr. Barnes and Miss Romanov were the trigger for the attack?”

Tony spoke quietly, but threateningly. “Geez, man, he’s barely out of surgery, give him a break-“

But Peter interrupted him. “Jim did something to my brain- drugs that made me hallucinate, maybe. And everyone I knew… hated me.”

“What do you mean? What did the hallucinations do?” The doctor peered at Peter’s face.

“It was stuff they’d said on the road trip- oh yeah, we were on a –um- a road trip, and he recorded the whole thing I guess- but he did something to the voices to make them really scary, and then the hallucinations were, you know, yelling at me and stuff…”

“Did they present a direct threat to you?”

“Uh… yes? They all wanted to kill me, I think…” Peter’s words were becoming sluggish.

“Hey, look, man, he’s tired. Just let him sleep.” Tony’s voice was less angry now, but thick with… other emotions.

The doctor nodded, rising from his seat.

“You know about him, right?” said Tony.

“Who he is? Yes. We’ll keep it secret, don’t worry.”

“What was that- that attack?” Tony stood up to meet the doctor.

“It’s often a response to a very stressful or fear-inducing environment. The fact that he’d just come out of surgery couldn’t have helped. I’d only hope that it’s a one-off thing, but it can be identified as a clinical disorder.”

“Well, can you do anything about it?”

“Therapy and time are my best bets. He’ll learn to trust the Avengers again, given time, but whether he’ll ever be rid of anxiety is unknown.”

Tony’d have to talk with the kid about all of that. He wanted to know just how much Moriarty had hurt him.

He resolved to make an appointment with Sherrinford sometime in the future.

 

Pepper had spent too long on the phone with May, trying to brief her on what had happened and cause the least amount of shock possible.

When Peter’s aunt rushed into the hospital, Pepper greeted her with a fierce hug. They didn’t know each other all that well, but Pepper felt it was her duty to keep everyone else from falling apart right now. She could do that.

“I’m so sorry, May,” she whispered when they broke apart.

Her face was red. She gestured to the huge duffel bag she was carrying. “I- uh- I brought some of his stuff, a couple books to keep him busy while he’s getting better, and some of his favourite clothes… uh… his friends sent me some messages for him so I made a card… I didn’t have enough time to make him any food or anything…”

“Don’t worry, that’s fine. He can’t eat anything right now, he’s on IV.”

“Oh, okay. Can I see him?”

“Yeah. He’s sleeping right now, and they’ve finished surgery and got him on meds.”

Pepper led May towards the intensive care ward. May might have been crying before, but the distraught look on her face had been replaced with steely concern.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Tony was looking at the drawing Steve had done with tears in his eyes.

He couldn’t wait for Peter to see it. It was amazing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t set him off again.

God, it would be like treading on glass around this kid until he learned to trust everyone again.

Pepper stepped in then.

“May’s here.”

Tony thought it would be best to wake Peter up, just to check he was alright with it. Tony had no idea how many people Moriarty had tainted in the poor kid’s mind.

“Hey, kid. Had a nice sleep?” Softly, Tony brushed back Peter’s hair from his face, and the kid didn’t flinch.

“It was alright, I guess.”

“Your aunt’s here to see you. Is it okay if she comes in?”

Tony had been dreading the response he saw now: Peter’s eyes widened and he curled up into himself again, staring like a deer in headlights at Tony.

“She… why is she here? She hates me. And- Ben…” 

Jesus. That Moriarty freak had even found a way to turn his uncle Ben on him.

But he had to be strong. He was the only person Peter could really trust right now.

“Hey, Pete, don’t do that, don’t move, it’s alright. Your aunt loves you, remember? Whatever she did between now and the last time you saw her before the road trip, that’s not real. I promise you, she won’t hurt you, kid. I’d never let her, but she wouldn’t.”

Peter’s eyes, which had seemed vacant as if he was looking into the past, fixed on Tony again as the man grabbed his wrist.

“I- no… really?”

“Yeah, really. She loves you so much, kid.”

“I can’t tell… which bits are real and which aren’t.”

“Wanna ask me? I can tell.”

“She hits me?” Peter’s voice wavered, but his gaze didn’t stray from Tony’s.

Peter needed to know Tony was sincere. “No. She would never. Not real.”

“She knows I’m- Spider-Man?”

“Real.”

“She thinks I’m useless and ungrateful.”

“Not real. She loves looking after you, and so do I.”

Peter seemed to collect himself, broken hands tightening on the bedspread, making him wince slightly. “Okay… can she come in now?”

“You sure?” Tony rubbed little circles into the inside of his arm. Peter liked that; it grounded him.

Peter took a deep breath. “Yup. Just… can you, like, keep holding my arm?”

He blushed at that, head turning away from Tony.

But the man took Peter’s face in his hand, ever so gently, and turned it back towards him. Tony nodded sincerely, his other hand still on Peter’s arm.

“I can do that. Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

Peter suddenly felt a little tearful. How did Tony care so much?

“Alright, buddy, you ready?” 

Peter nodded.

“May, you can come in,” called Tony, somewhat brightly.

May Parker sidled hesitantly into the room, hands gripping the full-to-bursting duffel bag. Peter’s breath hitched, prompting Tony to start drawing circles into his arm again, but it wasn’t with fear but tears.

“May,” he breathed.

He held out his arms feebly for her. She was hesitant at first to embrace him, scared to hurt him or scare him. 

When they met, they both huffed out a sigh. Peter started sobbing quietly.

May broke away from the hug and thumbed his tears away, although she was crying herself.

“This is real, right?” asked Peter.

“Yeah, baby. It’s real. I’m here. I should never have let you on that road trip; I knew it was a bad idea.” She laughed tearfully.

“I’m sor-“

“Don’t you dare be sorry! None of this is your fault, you hear me?” She took his face in her hands.

Peter looked down. “Okay.”

The problem came when May leaned in to press her forehead to his. 

All of a sudden, Peter couldn’t see, and it was Natasha jeering at him, and Jim yelling in his face, and h-

He flinched away, leaning back into Tony, breaths shortening rapidly.

It was so fast. May looked distraught as Tony talked softly to the kid, saying, “Hey, hey. Don’t worry kid, you’re here, you’re safe. She’s not gonna hurt you. You’re good.”

When the horror had faded again, he sunk into Tony’s hug, muttering, “Shoot, I’m sorry, I’m useless.”

Tony’s tone was stern. “That’s not true. You don’t need to be sorry, Pete. Like May said, it’s not your fault. You’re so brave for having gotten through this at all. Okay? Never forget that. You’re not useless, Peter. You’re the bravest guy I know.”

Peter just buried his head in Tony’s shirt.

May was stood a few paces back from the kid’s bed, hand over her mouth in horror.

“Don’t worry about it, May. Just some bad memories. It’ll get better.”

But Tony couldn’t promise that. He could only hope.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“It’s so cool!” enthused Peter. It looked a little ridiculous on a kid so covered in bandages, but Tony was relieved to see him smile.

“Hey, don’t pop your stitches, Parker. But I’m sure Rogers will be tickled red, white and blue.”

“That was awful, Tony,” groaned Peter, laughing a little. Suddenly, he winced.

Tony immediately snapped to attention.

“You okay? Does it hurt? Can I get you anything? You didn’t really pop a stitch, did you?”

“Tony, it’s fine, really.” But the tension had not left Peter’s body, and Tony would not back down until the kid was comfortable.

“What is it? The stomach?”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I think.”

“You want more meds, or should I call someone in?”

“No, I don’t want- can you just check?”

Suddenly, Tony understood. The kid didn’t want anyone else seeing his scars.

“Yeah, sure.” Feeling nervous all of a sudden, Tony lifted the kid’s shirt. Just a little blood spotted the bandages over his lean stomach.

“A bit of blood’s leaked.” Tony looked back up at Peter.

“The doctors said that was alright.”

Tony paused, wondering how to phrase it. “Peter… Bucky told me about- you know.”

Well, shit. He phrased that badly.

“The…”

“How I hurt myself?”

Tony was surprised he found it so easy to talk about. “Uh- yeah.”

“Okay. I was gonna tell you at some point, but… it’s not something you can just bring up. Like, “Hey, Tony, by the way, I self-harm”.”

“Look, kid, I’ve never had to deal with this before, so I don’t really know…”

Peter spoke hurriedly. “Don’t worry about it, Tony. I’ve- I’ve got it sorted, I don’t want to stress you out more.”

Tony remembered what Bucky had said about their night-time talk.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For stressing you out.”

He sighed. This kid would take a lot of work.

“Peter. It’s my job to be worried about you.”

“No, it’s not, you have no obligation to look out for me, you’re not my guardian or anything.”

“Well, then it’s my pleasure. I just want you to be alright, bud. If you hide stuff from me, or your Aunt May, it’ll make us worry more. God, I- don’t know how to say this. Bucky told me that you didn’t think anyone cared. That is wrong. I… care about you so much, okay?”

The emotional stuff never came easily to Tony. He was tensing up, and Peter looked terrified.

“Tony, don’t stress out on me.”

“I’m good, kid. Jesus, we’re both so screwed up, aren’t we?” He smiled, defeated, at Peter, who let out a little giggle.

Tony carried on with new resolve. 

“If you ever have something that’s on your mind, you tell May, or me, or Bucky, or the other Avengers. Telling Bucky when you did was good, but you didn’t have to let it get that far. It just- breaks my heart to hear you’re hurting yourself. I don’t understand why you’d have any reason to, because you’re the best kid I ever met. You- do you want me to write out a list?”

“Seriously?” Peter was choked up, staring at Tony like he was the rising sun.

“Yeah. What, d’you think I’d invite you on the road trip, or the Avengers, or make you a suit, if I didn’t like you? I’ll make you a list and you can read it after you sleep for a little.”

“I-I-I don’t understand.” Peter’s face was red with the effort of holding back tears. “Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve any of this.”

“Yes, you do, Peter. You deserve the entire world. It’s the world that doesn’t deserve you.”

Slowly, Tony put his fingers in Peter’s hair and carded them through the patchy curls.

A shiver went through Peter’s broken body; Tony stopped immediately, catching Peter’s eye meaningfully by way of asking permission. 

The kid smiled faintly and nodded.

Tony’s hands were rough but warm, and distinctively Tony-ish. It made it better that Peter could see what he was doing. He leaned into the touch, which was gentle enough to avoid hurting the sparse areas.

“You’re gonna be okay, Pete. You go to sleep now, and I’ll stay right here.”

He fell asleep with Tony’s fingers still in his hair.

It felt good.

\----------------------------------------------------

Things started to get better.

When Peter was able to eat solids again, they removed the IV tube and transferred him to a hospital in New York.

Helen Cho stayed with Peter. Tony could trust her with Peter’s secret identity; it eased a little of the ache in his chest to see Peter in such capable hands.

His spider-powers returned after a week. This was both a blessing and a curse: it meant the army of wounds littering his body would clear up faster, but without a crap ton of pain meds, he would be in a lot of pain, and the kid was not exactly renowned for telling someone when he was hurting.

That was why Tony added a new protocol to FRIDAY’s system: he called it the “Fuck Jim” protocol and it alerted him to any disturbance in the equilibrium of Peter’s body or mind. 

Essentially, if the kid got a panic attack, or another NEA, or if there was a complication with any of his injuries… Tony would know it.

Another few weeks later, Peter took his first steps since he’d been kidnapped, with May at one elbow and Tony at the other. He’d beamed when he’d managed to walk on his own, stumbling into May a little but not caring.

Tony smiled then, really smiled, for the first time in a while.

Then they started bringing in the Avengers, one by one. Peter had been receiving copious texts and was begging to see them all in person.

They brought Rhodey in first, to sort of warm him up; their encounter began a little awkwardly, but Peter pulled him in for a hug, saying, “Thanks for saving me.” Rhodey barely returned the hug, hands fluttering against Peter’s back as if the kid might shatter if he touched him.

Peter asked for Bucky then. Barnes stood against the wall, not wanting to encroach on Peter’s space. He had a little bunch of slightly wilted flowers in his metal hand.

“I- uh- picked them for you on the way here.” Bucky stared at the floor intensely.

Peter looked as if he might cry. “Are those daisies?” he asked, somehow communicating that Bucky could come over. 

Bucky knelt at Peter’s side, and mumbled, “Yeah.” He hesitantly offered the flowers to Peter, whose hands were still taped up.

“I- thank you.” The kid gazed up at Barnes with wet eyes.

They went on to converse in low voices about something. Tony thought he heard Bucky say, “Call me any time.”

Next to come were Clint and Bruce. Clint’s usual jokey exterior had crumbled, leaving him as quiet as Bruce. Tony could see it only made Peter sadder, so he called off that exchange for the moment.

Natasha promised to train with Peter whenever he felt up to it. They seemed to be having a great time until Natasha asked to play some of the music from the road trip.

“Please, no- uh, I mean… I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

In seconds, the rasping sound that Tony had been sure had left his throat was back, his breaths were speeding up and he stared up at the ceiling blankly.

“Kid. Kid, what’s up?” Tony touched a hand to Peter’s face. “Did they do something to the music?”

Peter nodded sharply, a haze of panic over his eyes. “The- the same as the voices, yeah.”

Natasha held Peter’s other hand loosely. 

Tony kept his hand on Peter’s cheek and rubbed soothing circles into the kid’s face as he breathed with him. They’d practiced this before; watched YouTube videos on how to stop panic attacks, trying to find a way that worked for Peter- and one that worked for Tony. 

They were treading on unknown ground with all the panic stuff. It was funny: both of them got panic attacks, and for a while, neither of them had any idea how to prevent them.

It wasn’t really funny.

They’d figured out that after Moriarty had played deafening music and sounds to Peter for so long, he couldn’t deal with any background noise during a panic attack; the only thing that really calmed him down was the sound of Tony’s lowered voice.

The only upside to this, thought Tony, was that he was there for the kid now when he was panicking.

And every time it happened, it was a little shorter.

Natasha left after he’d calmed down, promising to text him and arrange something as soon as he was out of hospital.

When he asked to see Steve, it was clear Peter had been dreading seeing him a little.

He’d loved texting the man, laughing at his old-fashioned vocabulary, but evidently the thought of seeing him face-to-face was a lot more daunting.

Tony tried to get him to pull out, but Peter stood firm.

He was so damn brave.

Peter still got Steve to let him know before he went into his hospital room.

By this point, the bedside table was overflowing with presents and cards from various school friends, neighbors and Avengers. 

The official story was that he’d been kept hostage to try and get the Avengers on the road trip to reveal some classified information. Tony was glad it wasn’t far from the truth; he didn’t want any of Peter’s school friends or anyone being… insensitive about what happened.

When Peter got a text from Rogers saying: “I’m outside the door. Let me know when you want me to come in :)”, he clutched Tony’s shirtsleeve but his face remained calm.

“You’re absolutely sure this is okay?” asked Tony one last time.

Peter nodded stoically. “Yeah. He’s my friend. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s right,” replied Tony, defeated.

He held Peter’s hand as Steve entered the room, smiling shyly.

“Hi, Pete. You like the drawing, then?”

Tony could feel Peter’s grip tightening; he placed his other hand in a grounding gesture on the kid’s shoulder.

But he could tell that beneath the fear, Peter really did want to see Steve.

“Yeah, I… Wow, Steve, it’s awesome!”

“I drew a couple more if you want to see them…”

They flicked through Steve’s drawings together. Tony was impressed by the sketches of the other Avengers.

There was three of Peter now. The one of Peter watching his tablet made the kid chuckle and sniff at the same time. Tony smiled when he read the “WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH PETER!” and whispered into Peter’s ear: “You bet, kid.”

The other two were also of Peter during the road trip: he was poised in a tree with his suit on; he was laughing in his “I HEART PENN” t-shirt.

“I’m afraid we ripped your t-shirt up and used it to save you,” said Steve, chuckling a little but sounding guilty.

“You can use mine,” chipped in Tony immediately. “I will never wear that ghastly thing again, I can assure you.”

By the time Steve had to leave, Peter’s hand had relaxed a little in Tony’s.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

“-coronary…”

“-triggered by stress…”

“-cholesterol…”

“-a few small heart attacks…”

“-give up the suit?”

“No,” snapped Tony.

Without Iron Man, who even was he?

He tried to imagine living without the means to save Peter if he was in danger, and his left arm did the thing.

See? Giving up the suit would only trigger whatever he had.

“Sir, I strongly recommend therapy-“

“Been there, hated that-“

“Or other stress-reducing techniques. How regular is your sleep schedule?”

“Sleep schedule? What’s that?” Tony was aware it wasn’t funny, but he didn’t want to think about this right now.

“Trying to get around 8 hours of sleep every night would be a good place to start.”

8 hours? Tony couldn’t remember the last time he got 8 hours of sleep in a night.

“Yeah… that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

Tony dragged his hands down his face. “You know, PTSD, anxiety, depression, Thanos-“

Shit.

“Uh-you know.”

The doctor chose not to ask about the last one. “Okay, maybe yoga or meditation would be good to ease those sources.”

“Yoga? Are you trying to be funny? Do you seriously see me in yoga pants?”

“It would help.”

Tony blew out a breath. “Sure. If it helps, then sure. Should I bring the kid?”

“Peter? Yes, it definitely wouldn’t do him any harm.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

The face of Moriarty was one which Tony was both determined and full of dread to see.

It was a 7-hour flight to England to visit Sherrinford, but it was worth it for whatever fragment of closure he’d get with the man.

Being Tony Stark had its benefits sometimes.

The prison was bleak; a fortress built on a small and rocky island off the English coast.

The bleaker the better.

The government had agreed to let Tony alone, although monitored with cameras and guards for his own safety, with the man.

He hadn’t told Peter about it. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

As the steel door of Jim’s cell swung open, Tony was reminded jarringly of the door into the room where Peter was held hostage. 

He had to blink away the image of Peter with a knife in his stomach.

Why did Moriarty always have to smile?

Tony could still see faint marks on Jim’s face where Steve had got his revenge. When the freak opened his mouth to speak, there was a tooth missing.

“Stark. What a surprise! Welcome to my humble abode. Like what I’ve done with the place?”

The room was completely bare of everything except a bed, which was welded and bolted to the floor.

Jim crossed his arms conversationally. “So, how’s the boy? Still a bit sad?”

At this, Jim sniffed theatrically and made as if to wipe away a tear.

Tony inhaled sharply; his eyes narrowed as the familiar tension flowed through him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, sicko? He’s doing great, actually.”

Moriarty gazed straight up at the ceiling. “Is that so?” He was doing that thing with the pitch of his voice again; it slid up and down like a kid on a waterslide.

“I don’t owe you any answers.”

“But you just gave them to me.” Jim shrugged, bottom lip protruding.

“You know, I could order you to be killed right now.”

Jim scoffed. “What, is that supposed to scare me or something?” He chuckled as if Tony were an imbecile.

“Yes. Yes, it should. It would, if you were a sane human being, but you’re a fucking sick freak and that’s why I’m going to make sure you stay inside this prison until you die of old age.”

Moriarty faltered just a little then.

Tony took the high ground. “I’m going to make sure you can’t hurt my kid, or anyone else, ever again. And maybe, after a few decades without seeing the sun, you’ll feel the slightest grain of remorse for what you’ve done, but I’m not counting on it.

“Which is fine. Me and my kid will be on the other side of the world, enjoying life, while you rot in jail.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Tony. He’ll never heal. I broke him.”

Jim leaned into Tony’s face and, just for a second, he understood why Peter had been so afraid when May had unintentionally mimicked the action.

“I snapped him like a little twig. I burned the heart out of him. He’ll never really get through that, I’m sorry to say.”

“And that is where you’re hilariously wrong.” Tony laughed a little then, just to prove his point. He’d never felt less like laughing. “When you turned the Avengers against him? He’s desperate to see them now. He’s better. 

“Don’t you get it? My kid is stronger than your torture. He’s better than you.”

And at that, Tony swept out of the cell without a word of goodbye.

Moriarty was yelling after him. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d had his closure.

When he emerged into the relative light of the outdoors, it felt like a huge chunk of weight had risen from his chest. He gulped in a breath of brisk British air, and felt a small smile creep across his lips.

Another day, another bad guy defeated.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Sir, the pizzas have arrived.”

“I’ll get them!” Peter jumped up off the sofa where he’d been nestled between Tony and Natasha.

“You sure, kid?” yelled Tony after Peter’s disappearing form.

“Yeah!”

Tony paused the film they’d been watching. The Lion King. When Mufasa had died, the whole team got a little misty-eyed and Tony had put an arm around Peter, who’d leant his head on the man’s shoulder.

As soon as he was able to move freely, the kid had launched himself into re-establishing his previous, head-spinningly jam-packed life. He’d invited Ned over to the compound to mess about with Tony’s lab equipment, and MJ for a Battlestar Galactica marathon. 

Peter liked to spend as much time at the compound as possible. Sometimes he slept over, occasionally with his aunt.

Tony loved seeing him so often.

And when Peter woke up from horrific nightmares, head reeling, sweating and shaking and gasping, Tony would be there in seconds, running across from his bedroom opposite the kid to card his fingers through fast-growing hair and whisper encouragement.

It was incredible, how quickly the kid had bounced back from it all.

All his stitches were out; the only bandage left was over his stomach. He was back to the ridiculously enthusiastic teen Tony remembered.

And it didn’t seem like a false exterior anymore. Peter really seemed happy. Tony’s heart, like an old machine, was slowly creaking back to life.

He was also thinking of writing poetry.

He’d even got Peter to get rid of his razor. They’d held it together and tossed it into a laser grid they’d put together themselves.

What a strange family they were.

Now Peter staggered back into the room under the weight of at least 6 pizza boxes. Tony chuckled and stood up to relieve him of part of his burden and tossed them to the respective Avengers.

Hawaiian for Clint (“What? Pineapple does belong on pizza. Bite me, Spider-Boy!”); Meat Feast for Natasha (“Screw my waistline!”); Spicy Veg Trio for Bucky (“Something healthy among all your crappy pizzas”); Chicken Carbonara for Bruce (“Yes, it’s a pizza flavour!”); pepperoni for Steve (“A solid classic.”); something called the Godfather for Tony (“I’ll have whatever the hell that is.”); and a disgusting-looking mess called Double Bacon Cheeseburger for Peter (“Shut up, it tastes incredible! I get you, Bruce, it is a pizza flavour!”).

They ate heartily, teasing and joking with each other as they tucked in.

Afterward, they revisited the new Avenger favorite pastime- Lip Sync Battles.

Yes, it was official now. With capital letters.

They even called Happy in to host the show. Tony got DUM-E to man the lights.

For the final act, Peter and Tony had agreed on doing “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns and Roses. They’d even practiced a little beforehand.

Tony brought two of his electric guitars down from his room and they used them as props, along with actual mike stands.

Tony had told the other Avengers a little about the sensory torture Peter had been subjected to, but clearly, they’d forgotten that he might still be affected by it.

A round of applause welcomed them onto the stage. The pair began crouched on the ground, guitars in hand. Tony noticed Peter looked a little pale under the bright spotlight.

“You ready?” asked Tony in a low voice, meaning, “You okay?”

Peter misinterpreted it and said, “As I’ll ever be, Mr. Stark.”

The music started then; Tony didn’t have any more time to talk to Peter.

The performance went beautifully. Tony and Peter poured their heart and soul into the song, sweat, and tears and (Tony hoped) not blood.

Peter had the last ‘line’, a screeching, lingering note finishing the music. 

He sunk to his knees as he mouthed it. Tony grinned at the kid’s commitment, ‘playing’ the last few chords on his guitar with fervor.

Their audience stood up to applaud them. Tony swept a bow, wiping sweat from his eyes, and went over to help Peter up.

As soon as he took the kid’s hand, he gripped his like a vice.

Snapping out of his daze, Tony noticed the tightness of Peter’s shoulders, the shuddering movement he made when he breathed- or rather, didn’t.

Oh shit, not again.

“DUM-E, lights down!” he yelled as softly as possible.

Bruce was the first one to notice that something wasn’t quite right. He hushed the applause and ushered everyone out of the room urgently.

Tony made a mental note to get Bruce a nice purple shirt or something.

Taking the mike from Peter’s shaking hand, Tony leaned into the kid, carding his fingers through his sweaty hair and rubbing circles on his back.

“Kid, you should have told me if you weren’t okay with all this,” murmured Tony.

Peter’s words were muffled, his face against Tony’s collarbone. “I- it was okay, it was fine, but then… it was just too much.”

That was when the tears started. “Oh no- I’m so sorry,” hiccupped Peter.

“Hey, not your fault. Remember what we said about apologizing?”

“Oh yeah. I’m sor-“

“Are you serious?” Tony looked down at Peter’s smaller form, enclosed in his.

Peter laughed, but is sounded more like a choke.

And then he really was choking. Jerking, head reeling back into Tony’s chin, legs kicking at the wood floor.

“Oh shit- okay, okay, I got you, Peter,” stammered Tony. He hadn’t been expecting another NEA. There had only been one or two between the first one and this. They were very rare occurrences.

Usually, Peter had to be in a really triggering environment to get one.

Tony should have seen this coming.

He did the position they’d talked about with medical professionals; Tony knelt and slowly moved Peter’s trembling head to his lap, still stroking his hair soothingly. 

There was nothing physical he could really do to help stop the attack; it would only get him hurt by one of the kid’s stray limbs. It was torture to be so helpless when Peter needed his help so much.

All he could do was keep talking to him. “You’re safe, Peter. We’re gonna get through this together, okay? Keep listening to my voice. You’re good. You’re good. You’re so brave, Pete.”

When Peter came out of the attack, he was still trembling a little.

It took another few minutes to slow his breathing back to normal.

When it was all over, Tony pulled the kid in for a fierce hug. “You did it. You got through it, like I said. Well done, kid.”

Peter loved and hated the attacks.

It meant he lost control of his mind. He was back in the cell, Moriarty’s voice ringing in his ears, his fingers slowly snapping out of their sockets, the agony of the knife in his stomach.

But it also meant that Tony was there for him. His face was the one that was always there, bringing him back out of the darkness.

If he had to pick one feeling he loved above all others, it was the feeling of Tony’s fingers brushing through his hair.

He didn’t let anyone else touch his head. Not yet. Just Tony.

When Peter’s legs were strong enough to carry him out of the room again, Tony linked arms with him and they went to seek out the other Avengers again.

On the one hand, Peter felt like shit. He’d just ruined the team night because he freaked out again.

On the other, as he was pulled into a group hug by Bruce, Steve, Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Bucky, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

Because they didn’t care. They cared about whether he was alright now.

And that made him a lot more alright.

It made him feel awesome.

Later that night, he took out the list Tony had made about him. He hadn’t been joking. All the Avengers had chipped in with things they loved about him.

It was the best thing ever.

“How much you love everyone else.”

“How you’d give up everything to save people.”

“You’re always generous.”

“The best singer ever!”

“You never fail to put a smile on my face.”

“You’re such a nerd, and it’s cute on you.”

“Spider-Man is the strongest Avenger: change my mind.”

“Your hair never fails to be on fleek.”

“You’re the most loveable guy I ever met!”

“You’re down for anything!”

“How much you care about us all.”

It never failed to make Peter laugh and cry at the same time. They were happy tears, now.

Happy was a word he’d forgotten while in the cell with Jim. He’d expected to never be the same again.

Well, he’d expected to be dead first, but that didn’t work out.

But somehow, he’d got out, and he had to say he was happier than he’d ever been.

It wasn’t over yet. The darkness of the cell still haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

He realized he’d never seen what the room looked like.

But he had people now, people he could talk to about anything.

He had Tony. He had May, and the Avengers, and Ned and MJ and…

And they’d always be there.

Peter felt better than he ever had.

Happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends the Avengers Road Trip!  
> To everyone who's read this, I love you all so much! I said this in my previous chapter a bit, but every hit, kudos, bookmark and comment means the world to me! You all make my day!  
> I'm going to take a break from fanfiction for now, but there's definitely opportunity to expand on this AU. Will Tony and Peter get round to doing yoga, or meet each other at therapy by chance? How do the other Avengers fuss over Peter? How are Ned and MJ doing after hearing about the kidnapping?  
> So expect more content in the future!  
> Got any ideas for where to take this AU or story prompts? Write them down below! I got some great ideas for the past few chapters from commenters!
> 
> Remember to check out the playlist for this fanfic:  
> On YouTube: https://youtu.be/qN5zw04WxCc  
> On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/e1yasj5qw4lcpqqhse0tmnxi3/playlist/2NxhtPHJrPITHDqVB1L9UV?si=ucWFxc8lSnmsvKjyA1PqfQ
> 
> It's been a crazy, awesome ride! See you all soon! xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Sooo this is my first ever fanfic and I have no idea if anyone will read it but here's to irrational hope, hey?  
> The premise: it's a post-Civil War fic but I won't linger too much on the tension between Tony and Steve because that's not my main focus. The focus is on Peter Parker, my beautiful little ray of sunshine, and my dear smol bean Tony, who's trying his best to hold the team together and not screw up Peter's life at the same time. I'm going to be liberally sprinkling in some flashbacks about the Avengers' life outside the road trip, including a teeny bit of romance (Brutasha and Stucky haters, beware) and the angst in Peter and Tony's lives.  
> In this chapter, when May mentions Peter's hidden "boyfriend or girlfriend" that's a casual reference to Peter being bi (Biderman) which I'll expand on later because I think it's really cute!  
> I'm estimating the final chapter count at around 10 but you can never be too sure...  
> I'll try to update regularly but it's the summer holidays at the moment so sometimes I have masses of spare time and sometimes I'm out of the country whoop!  
> Thank you for reading! I'd appreciate some constructive criticism so I can improve! Have the best day and keep living your extra life! xx


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